Harry Potter And The Green Flame Torch
by Phantasmagoria
Summary: Hogwarts is again shrouded in mystery and death, and it is up to Harry to overcome his fears, feuds, temptations, and ultimately, the evil within himself. Only then that he can find the courage to fight for the light, and everything it stands for ...
1. The Dark Lord's Move

A/N: I was reading over chapters one through five of this fic the other day, and found that I was grimacing half the way. It was utterly horrible, not to mention that the first few chapters had been uploaded in text only format. So I made a few changes here and there, particularly to the part when Fred, George and Ron Weasley escorted Harry to the Burrow. Then I combined a few chapters together, and put _italics _to what was necessary. And the result is this. I hope you enjoy it. Once again, _The Green Flame Torch _remains as the title, except I found out the other day that it wasn't going to be used as the sixth book after all. Oh well. ^^

Disclaimer: None of the characters, places and objects belong to me, except for the ones you don't recognise. No copyright infringement is intended against J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Coco Cola, Scholastics, Bloomsbury, and any other companies.****

**Harry Potter And The Green Flame Torch**

**Chapter One**

**The Dark Lord's Move**__

_"Wormtail! Answer the door, it must be her." The high shrill voice echoed over the dimly lit room._

_"Yess … m … my … m-master … " a squeaky trembling voice answered. _

_"Hurry!" the first voice snapped. _

_Wormtail gasped in fright, then scrambled out of sight. _

_"My poor Wormtail, as timid and useless as ever …" the first voice said to itself with amusement, and yet there was a bitter tinge in its high, cruel voice._

_The newcomer stepped into the room, followed by Wormtail, who was still trembling from the top of his bald scalp to the hem of his long crimson robes. The woman was clothed from head to toe in midnight black, and a hood covered her face. _

_"Wormtail, drag your miserable little soul away from this conversation, before I make sure that you won't have one to start with." The voice whispered softly, every syllable of his voice dripping with malice.  _

_Wormtail stammered a scratchy apology, then turned sharply around on his heels and fled._

_The woman barely glanced in his direction. "Master, you called for me?" She asked, in a low and sinister voice, as though she had been possessed. _

_"Yesssss … " the voice hissed. "How did you go with the task I entrusted you?"_

_The woman shrugged indifferently. "It was easy, Master. I did not need much of the powers you gave me to break through the wall of spells Dumbledore put on his house …"_

_"And?" the high shrill voice was excited, eager to know what came next.   _

_"I found quite a few things that might prove to be useful …" A pair of red eye glinted ominously underneath the woman's hood. "I found a schedule on Hogwarts events, also a planner for the next Order of Merlin Meeting, _and_ a key to a Gringotts vault."_

_"Excellent …" The voice hissed. _

_"Shall I show you the items?" she asked, beginning to lift up her wide sleeve._

_"Yes, and hurry up with it!" This time there was no mistaking the irritation in the high voice. _

_But the woman stood her ground. "I want my pay first," she said firmly._

_"Why, do you not think I will give you the ten thousand galleons you deserve?" The voice sneered back. "Show me the items now and I will pay you."_

_"Fine." The woman opened her large sleeve, and from it extracted a leather-bound book, and a small silver key that glinted in the lowlight. _

_She hesitated then, as though unwilling to touch the speaker. Then she swallowed hard and pressed the items into the palm that lay outstretched in front of her._

_"I see you are not entirely loyal to me, as you are afraid to touch me …" The voice whispered lazily._

_"No! I am simply overwhelmed at having the honour to touch your hand, Master," The woman seemed to have regained her composure, as her reply was confident and sardonic.  _

_Lord Voldemort _(A/N: Who did you think it was?)_ ignored her, and started to open the book, in a manner not unlike a little boy tearing off the wrapper of his Christmas present. The diary was bound with a protection spell to prevent snoopers, but he broke through it easily._

_The woman looked on curiously as Voldemort flipped open the cover and read the first line silently._

_It didn't take long for his eyes to widen in shock. _

_"AHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!" The horrible scream rang through the night, shaking the land ferociously for miles around. _

_The woman shrank back in fright and cowered against the wall; her eyes glued to Voldemort's, which were burning with a fiery rage beyond hatred and evil._

_His face contorted in fury, Lord Voldemort had her seized and pinned against the wall with his wand; his strength was so great she was suspended two feet off the ground. He tore off the hood that had previously hidden her face, to reveal rigid blonde curls framing a heavy-jawed face with jewelled spectacles. _

_"Pl-please … m-mast-ter, please cal-calm do-down … " she stammered, her heart pounding in her mouth, her whole body shaking with terror. Tears were fast streaming down her face, yet Lord Voldemort showed no signs of cooling down.  _

_"You fool!" He was so close to her their noses almost touched. She could see the lethal glint in his silted eyes, sense the killer instinct in his look, and the smell of his breath was vile and foul. _

_"See for yourself what you have achieved!" Voldemort said calmly, backing away from her face slightly, and pushing the diary in front of her eyes._

_The woman read, with a plunge in her heart, the scathing words: "It takes more than this to outsmart Albus Dumbledore". The rest of the diary was blank, even though the words "Hogwarts Schedule 1995" was clearly written on the top. The book exploded into flames, and what remained of it flew to the ground in a pile of ashes.  _

_"No … no … it can't be …" she moaned despairingly, pleading with her flailing arms, but she knew it was too late … she was going to be killed. _

_"Please, please …  d-don't kill me … I'll do whatever y-you want …" the woman shrieked, panic dancing in her eyes. _

_The corners of Voldemort's silt-like mouth twitched convulsively. "No, I won't kill you," he leered. "You're too precious for that, you know …" and he allowed the woman to fall, leaving her to lie on the ground in a heap of cloak, sobbing with relief and hiccuping occasionally. _

_"Oh, thank you, t-thank you, master," she stammered, crawling over to kiss his feet frantically. _

_"Serve me loyally, and I will reward you with all the riches in the world," Voldemort said. Then what was his passive face hardened._

_"However, make one mistake, move one toe out of line, and I will reduce you to ashes at the very least."_

_"Yes, master … w-whatever you say, my noble lord … "_

_Voldemort smirked at her, then his eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of the silver key he had dropped in his previous rage, which was lying on the ground. _

_"Hmm … the key to the Gringotts vault …" he said, letting the key float into his bony hands._

_"Oh, master, I swear this one is real …" the woman gushed hoarsely, still clutching his leg. "Now you will see how useful I have proved to be …"_

_"Really?" Lord Voldemort looked at the key suspiciously, before it too burst into flames and was reduced into ashes in seconds.  _

_He looked down at the now silent woman, his eyes narrowed to slits. "You know what this mean, don't you?"_

_"No …  n-no, please don't, have mercy …" the woman gushed, dread filling her every vein. She looked up at Voldemort, shaking violently. "You w-wouldn't do t-that to me, would y-you?" _

_"You are nothing to me. What makes you think I will spare you?" the reply was harsh and callous._

_"PLEASE! D-don't …"_

_Lord Voldemort ignored his servant's pleas, raised his wand and muttered a few well-chosen words._

_There was a flash of green light, a rustling sound, then a thud as the woman's limp body hit the ground. _

***

The crazy laughter filled the night, and suddenly Harry Potter opened his eyes and sat up in bed panting, his pyjamas drenched in perspiration. 

Harry wiped the sleep away from his eyes, shivering. It was freezing for an August night. He got out from under his covers and pulled on his oversized ex-Dudley dressing robe, a myriad of thoughts buzzing away in his head. A quick glance at his luminous clock told him it was three minutes past midnight. 

Somewhere in the night an owl hooted ominously. Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts, which were utterly confused. He had been having a dream, a crazy one where someone had failed to accomplish something, and her master had murdered her … the terror and panic that had shown in her desperate eyes as she said her last words were not something he could forget easily …

Harry brushed his hair away from his emerald-green eyes. "Why am I freaking out … I'm fine …" he assured himself as he surveyed his room, still panting.  "See, everything's normal! There's my broomstick, Firebolt lying next to my Quidditch Throughout the Ages, and there's my wand, next to my bedside table … and there's Hedwig, my snowy owl, asleep with her head under her wing in her cage … Everything's fine, Harry Potter! Stop obsessing!"

Harry ran his fingers through his messy black hair in frustration. _Great, and now I'm talking to myself out loud in the middle of the night when everything's normal._

But Harry Potter wasn't normal. He was a wizard, and belonged to the world of magic. Which generally could be summarised in a few words: Spells. Wands. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Friends. Hermione. Ron. Sirius. Dumbledore, the headmaster …

Scenes from his dream flashed through his mind again: the woman screaming as she begged for mercy … her murderer's crazy laugh … surely there hadn't been a mention of Dumbledore somewhere … that deadly flash of green light … 

He shivered again, and not just from the cold. 

"Surely it couldn't be …" Harry wondered. "It couldn't have been _Voldemort?_" Just thinking about Voldemort gave him chills down his spine. 

Lord Voldemort was the darkest wizard that had ever lived in a century. A long time ago, he had terrorised the world with his evil power, employed thousands of other ill-minded wizards and had killed numerous witches and wizards, not to mention normal none-magic people (Muggles) as well. Harry's face darkened, remembering that if it weren't for Voldemort, he would still have had parents … 

Lord Voldemort had arrived at Harry's house one day when he was only one, and had attempted to kill his whole family. He had succeeded in killing Harry's parents, Lily and James Potter, but when he had tried to curse Harry, a helpless little baby, the curse had inexplicably rebounded back onto him. Lord Voldemort had fled, barely alive, yet not entirely human, and peace and serenity had returned to the Magic world.

Harry fingered his only remnant of that curse in the semi-darkness - a thin lightening-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. Only in his first year at Hogwarts did he learn that the reason he had survived was because his mother had died to save him, thus leaving him an invisible protection. It was this scar, this thin unremarkable scar that had identified him to the Magic world as an international hero. He had almost defeated Voldemort when he was a baby, that is to say: almost. For Lord Voldemort had risen again last year, more evil and powerful than ever, with the help of his faithful servant Wormtail …

Harry felt a flash of anger. Wormtail, also called Peter Pettigrew, had been his parents' best friends. However, he had betrayed them heartlessly, and was now on Voldemort's side. The last time he had seen Peter was in his third year, when the truth had been revealed. But Wormtail had taken a chance and had fled back to Voldemort …

He cringed as he remembered the gory events from last year … Lord Voldemort rising from his cauldron, fully recovered and more power-hungry than ever … his supporters, the Death Eaters, cheering their master on as Harry fought a hopeless battle against the wizard he had so easily defeated thirteen years ago … He had survived by the skin of his teeth, but Cornelius Fudge, the Ministry of Magic had refused to believe the return of Voldemort, and had turned a blind eye on all that was happening.

Suddenly Harry's scar exploded in hot searing pain. He gasped, his hand over his scar, trying to keep his balance. The pain ceased as sudden as it had begun, and Harry flopped down on his bed, pale as a ghost and breathing hard. Something was wrong. Perhaps his dream was real. For Harry's scar would always start to hurt whenever Voldemort was feeling angry or extremely murderous … He listened for any noises from the next room, afraid to have woken any one up, but all was silent, except for the constant snoring from the Dursleys.

The Dursleys. Another reason for him to hate Voldemort.

He had had to live with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley Dursley ever since he had lost his parents. They hated him with a passion that was only matched by his own dislike for them. Uncle Vernon had never bought him an item of clothing (he had to make do with oversized hand-me-downs from Dudley), never praised him for his schoolwork, and was always acting as though he did not exist. He was extremely fat, with a moustache and a potbelly.

Aunt Petunia had a face like a horse, and was the neighbourhood gossip. She never showed any affection for Harry like any aunt would, but instead, ordered him around the house and was always finding something tedious for him to do, even if it meant mowing the lawn for the fifth time that week. 

And Dudley … oh, how he hated him … Dudley was a dead ringer for his father, only much more fatter. He was spoilt to the extent that his parents simply refused to see the fact that if he continued shoving food in his mouth the way an elephant would, he would either a) blow up, b) regurgitate everything out and form the biggest garbage dump in the world, or c) swell up like a smaller version of Jupiter, float into space, and be forced to orbit Earth forever. He also treated Harry the way he would treat a bug, and was always getting him in trouble, even though Harry wasn't responsible for half the things he was supposed to have done.  

Harry smiled to himself, remembering the shock and horror his relatives had went through when they had found out that he was a wizard, five years ago. They had tried to keep him out of magic, but had had no choice but to oblige when Dudley *mysteriously* grew a pig's tail.

Harry walked over to the open window in his room and found himself staring at the starry sky. If his dream was true … he shivered against the cold night air, wrapping his sleeping gown around him tighter. Voldemort had wanted the woman to break into someone's house … He frowned as he struggled to remember, but the details were blurred and vague. The woman had failed in whatever she had been doing, and Voldemort had put the death curse on her … He winced as a fresh breeze of chilly night air touched his skin, and moved away from the window.

Dumbledore was in the dream somewhere too, though he couldn't quite place it in. Surely the Headmaster of Hogwarts School wasn't visiting Voldemort … maybe Voldemort had mentioned him in his conversation with the woman. There was something familiar that woman too … something about the way she delivered her less-than-polite comments … and the jewelled spectacles …

Harry went over to his bag and took out a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. "Better to write to Sirius about my dream. He'll know what to do with it …" he said aloud to himself. Sirius Black was Harry's godfather. The wizard world still thought of him as a dangerous, ruthless murderer, who had killed several people with one curse, and had escaped from the wizard prison, Azkaban.  Back in his third year, Harry had thought that it was Sirius who had betrayed his parents, and had hated him with all his heart, but now he knew that Sirius was innocent, and cared for him like his father would have. He was Harry's next-of-kin now, (besides the … um … Dursleys) and he was the first one Harry would inform should he have any problems. 

The Dursleys, who used to torment him in every degree on a day-to-day basis, now shrank away in fear whenever Harry reminded them that he had a cold-blooded murderer for a godfather, conveniently forgetting to add that he was innocent.

Harry placed his quill over the parchment hesitantly, unsure of how to phrase his words. 

_Dear Sirius,_

_I hope you are having a good time, wherever you are. Thanks for the birthday present, it's very nice._

Harry looked down at the fine gold chain hanging from his neck. Dangling from it was a minute sparkling hourglass.  Sirius had given him a Time-Turner, something that could transport the wearer through time. Harry knew that it was strictly forbidden to meddle with time or the such, but Sirius had told him that it would be quite useful in life-threatening situations. Nevertheless, Harry wasn't ever intending to use it. He knew how risky it was to change things from the way they were meant to be, remembering all the too well what had happened in his third year … 

_The last bird was so colourful, (he continued) Hedwig regarded it as dangerous, and refused to let it drink from her water container. Anyway, the Dursleys are treating me decently, thanks to you, and I have already received my Hogwarts letter._

He paused at this point, trying to think of how to sound not in the least bit disturbed, so as not to worry Sirius. The last time he had written to Sirius because of a dream, his godfather had went back to Hogwarts under great danger, and Harry still felt that he would have never forgiven himself should Sirius have been caught by the creepy, soul-sucking Dementors.    

_I am writing to you because I just had an unusual dream. I dreamt of Vol - You Know Who conversing with a woman, then putting the curse on her. Dumbledore was mentioned somewhere in there too, but I couldn't remember where. And then I woke up with this crazy laughter ringing in my ear, and a burning sensation on my scar. Do you know of anything happening to Dumbledore lately? Please don't come back to Hogwarts like you did last time, it'll be suicide if you do so. I don't want you to worry about me; I just want you to keep me informed on what's happening. Promise me you won't come back no matter what - and take care._

_Yours,_

_Harry._

There, Harry thought. He had been careful to leave out keywords such as 'killing' and 'scary' - that would surely freak Sirius out. He walked across the tiny room to where Hedwig was, and woke her up with a gentle poke. Hedwig woke up reluctantly, but immediately straightened up and ruffled her feathers importantly when she realised she had a job to do. Harry tied the parchment to her leg, released her from his window, and watched as Hedwig faded, first to a shrinking shadow in the distance, then disappearing completely from his view. 

He hoped Sirius wouldn't get worked out again. Harry turned away from the window, fingering Sirius' birthday present. He hoped that everything was all right with Dumbledore and Fudge. The Ministry of Magic had never quite approved of Dumbledore's ways, but in his own opinion Harry thought that Dumbledore was the greatest wizard he had ever known.   

Suddenly the sound of flapping wings and frantic hooting disturbed Harry's thoughts, and he whirled around, startled, to see a tiny white and grey blur zooming around his room full-speed like a firecracker gone loose. It was screeching madly in a – well … owl-ish sort of way. Harry immediately recognised it as Pigwidgeon, his friend Ron's miniature pet owl.   

"Shush," he whispered frantically, and managed to catch the little fur-ball-thingy before it woke the Dursleys up. (He wasn't Seeker of his house Quidditch team for nothing.) Pigwidgeon scrambled furiously in his hand, and was about to start hooting again, (possibly in high spirits as he had accomplished the job successfully) when Harry held its minuscule beak together with his other hand. 

"Listen, Pig, you've gotta keep quiet now, or my aunt would make fresh owl-stew out of you, with me as the side dish … " he hissed anxiously, straining his ears for any sign of movement from the rooms around him. His relatives hated more than anything that he was a wizard, and wizard-items or magic-vocabulary were simply not permitted, such as the words "wizards" or even "owl-post".   

'Pig' (even though he looked like one as much as Dumbledore looking like Dudley) put a lid on it almost immediately at the notion of being cooked alive. He held up his leg meekly, and Harry untied the folded piece of parchment attached to it. The diminutive owl flew into Hedwig's empty cage, and sipped water from her tray with a grateful sort of hooting.   

He recognised Ronald Weasley's untidy scribble almost at once. 

_Hey Harry,_

_How are you? I hope the Muggles aren't giving you a hard time. Is that fat boy - what's his name, Dudley or something? - still as bad as ever? If he is, then you go ahead and curse him, Harry - I'll make sure that my dad persuades his colleagues at the Ministry of Magic to cut you some slack so that you won't get another warning letter._

_Anyway, did you like the birthday cake I sent you? I was going to let Pig bring along your birthday present as well, but I think the cake was quite enough for him. (After that trip he had to take a potion for his wing strain.)_

_But it doesn't matter, since you'll get it when you come and stay at our house for the remaining of the summer! Hermione is here as well. I'm sorry we don't have any special events this year, like the Quidditch Cup last year (that was sooo fun, wasn't it?) Please come, although I don't think you need any persuading. As for your Muggle relatives, I'm sure they'll be glad to get rid of you earlier! _

_I won't say more, send Pig back ASAP with your answer, and expect us at around four in the afternoon this Friday. (We'll be coming by car; so don't worry about your fireplace! _

_I'll see you at the Burrow,_

_Ron. _

Spending the rest of the summer at the Burrow? Yes! Harry smiled to himself. Just one more day and he wouldn't have to see the Dursleys for almost a year. He realised there was another piece of parchment behind Ron's letter, with neat, proportioned writing across it. It seemed his other best friend, Muggle-born Hermione Granger had sent her letter along as well.

_Dear Harry,_

_I wanted to add this part so that I can tell you something myself - I've been made a prefect! I had been a nervous wreck the whole summer, hoping I would be made one. My parents are quite proud of me. What about you? _

_Ron didn't get to be one (no surprises there, if I do say so myself) and I think he's a little annoyed with me, that's why he hasn't mentioned anything about prefects in his letter. Please don't mention anything about prefects while we're together, as I think Ron has been under a lot of stress lately, what with his mum being disappointed and all, and wouldn't want the extra blow.  _

_I arrived at the Burrow yesterday. Before that I had spent my holidays finishing all my assigned homework (even the Potions one, although I must admit that one was a killer.) I can't wait for school to start, I've been doing some extra work so that I would be ready for our O.W.L.S. examinations this year - they're extremely important. See you at Ron's house! _

_Love,_

_Hermione.   _

Harry read Hermione's letter, frowning a little to himself. Poor Ron, he thought. Ron's brothers (besides Fred and George, the twins) had all been high achievers, with two Head Boys amongst them. Ron had always been feeling like he would never be quite as good as Charlie, Bill and Percy (now all working full-time). Not having been made a prefect, though not surprising, must have at least been disappointing to him and his parents. 

Harry's letter had arrived weeks ago, informing him of books he would need. He hadn't been made a prefect, but that didn't affect him in the least. On the contrary, Harry was quite relieved, as the idea of having a high-achieving wizard in the family would have been too much for the Dursleys to bear. 

"Going to stay with my best friends is exactly what I need to take my mind off Voldemort", Harry said to himself aloud as he hastily scrawled a note (_Thanks, pal, I'll be there - whether the Muggles like it or not - Harry_), tied it to Pig's leg, and let him fly off into the dark night. 

Harry lay down in bed, feeling that it was okay to go to bed at last. He closed his eyes, with images of the dream - no - nightmare still flashing in his mind.

A/N: I hope this revised version is better. Go on to the next chapter!


	2. Powers of the Unexpected

A/N: This chapter is one of those that went through major changes. To avoid getting confused in future chapters, those of you who have read this before, read it again! (Sorry if you don't really want to, I know it can get boring ^_^)****

**Chapter Two**

**Powers of the Unexpected**

Harry woke up the next morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, in fairly good spirits. He had slept peacefully for the rest of the night, having no dreams to torment him whatsoever. Besides, the idea of leaving the Dursleys soon was enough to keep him happy under any circumstances. 

Walking down the stairs, however, Harry's good mood was diminished immediately as he collided headfirst into Dudley Dursley's fat-filled tummy. He let off an astonished '_ooff_', nothing but bulgy flab in his face, and literary bounced backwards. Dudley jumped back hurriedly, whining to his mum about Harry's clumsiness. He had been completely unhurt in the collision; his layer of protection in the form of tummy-fat had shielded him.

While Aunt Petunia yelled at him from the kitchen, Harry struggled to keep his balance, and tried to stop himself from throwing up. He thought he was going to be sick: experiencing blubber right in the face was not an enjoyable event.

Uncle Vernon greeted him in the usual way as Harry arrived at the breakfast table, still feeling nauseous and woozy. ("Comb your hair, you look like trash!") Dudley, still complaining about Harry, was immediately awarded with an extra large potion of grapefruit. He started on it like a pig and gobbled it up within a few seconds, smacking his lips and giving off a humungous burp. ("That's my Duddlekins!" Aunt Petunia gushed proudly.) 

Harry had came back for the holidays a months ago, amazed that Dudley had managed to maintain his diet. He did look like he had lost some weight, but in Harry's opinion, the now slimmer Dudley could still match up in size to a baby whale.

"This 'carrot food' is getting Dudley nowhere,' Uncle Vernon grunted from behind his morning paper. He had been forced to cut down his food intake considerably in order to accompany Dudley in his new food regime, and wasn't happy about it to say in the least. 

Dudley turned to his mum with a pleading see-even-dad-thinks-so-please-can-I-have-more-food look on his face. Aunt Petunia sighed like a person in enormous pain, than pushed her plate of grapefruit over to her son.

Harry stared down at his piece of grapefruit incredulously: it was smaller than the size of a plum. He picked it up and swallowed it in one go, feeling like he had eaten nothing at all. Not willing to endure any more of the Dursleys' dirty looks, he was about to excuse himself from the table when Uncle Vernon put down his paper and growled at him to stop.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?"

"Up to my room. I've still got some homework to do …"

Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes in annoyance. He hated any word that had a connection to Hogwarts, however slight, and 'homework' was one of them. 

"Well, you're going nowhere, boy," Uncle Vernon smirked, putting his gruesome face right up close to Harry's, who could smell his foul breath. "Mrs Figg needs some help in her house today, and you're spending the whole day there. _Or else_."

Harry couldn't resist a groan as he backed away. "But I received this letter from my friend Ron and he's asked me to stay over for the rest of the summer," he explained frantically, "and they're picking me up today. If it's fine with you," he added hastily.

"Oh, so now you're thinking you can just have things your own way, without considering others, is it? Getting stubborn, aren't we?" Uncle Vernon bellowed, his face turning purple in world record time. Dudley smirked from his place at the table; he loved seeing Harry being bellowed at by Uncle Vernon. 

"No I just asked if it was okay," Harry argued, trying to keep his temple down, and failing miserably. "All I want is to go to Ron's house, then you'll get rid of me, and I'll get rid of you; isn't that what everybody wants?" 

"YOU KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT IN THIS HOUSE, BOY!" Uncle Vernon yelled so loudly, Harry could picture his hair being blown back by the wind coming from his Uncle's spitting mouth. 

Uncle Vernon suddenly turned back to his normal skin colour, and his breathing pace slowed down. "Spending the rest of the summer at those, those THINGS' house … well," he smiled sweetly …

"_No_." 

Harry felt hatred boil up inside him quicker than a volcano's lava. He mentally counted to ten, trying to control his desire to put his arms around that fat piece of trash's neck and squeeze hard. 

Suddenly Uncle Vernon made a sound like a bullfrog being stepped on, and his arms flew to his neck so fast, Harry thought someone must have pulled a string. Uncle Vernon started spluttering, his arms clutching his neck, staggering all over the face in agony. Aunt Petunia and Dudley both jumped up shrieking, and ran unanimously over to them, screaming recklessly. They tried to relieve Uncle Vernon, who obviously looked like he was being strangled. Harry stood at the side, his mouth and eyes as wide as saucers as he watched, unable to figure out what in Merlin's beard was going on.  

"_WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT_?" Aunt Petunia screeched, her arms around her husband's neck, who was turning a deep blue. 

Harry didn't know if he was shocked at the fact that Aunt Petunia was swearing for the first time, or that Uncle Vernon was dying, or maybe both, but he backed away in surprise, wishing desperately for it all to stop. 

Uncle Vernon landed with a huge THWACK on the floorboards, but his pain seemed to have gone. The three Dursleys lay on the ground in a confused heap; Uncle Vernon panting like a huge buffalo, Aunt Petunia hugging her husband in relief, and Dudley wailing like a baby. 

"YOU MURDERER, WHAT WERE YOU TRYING TO DO, KILL ME?" Uncle Vernon gasped, his gigantic chest heaving up and down. Dudley recoiled from his cousin, his piggy eyes widened in fear. "You tried to curse Daddy … " he mumbled, his voice still shaky. 

"I … I wasn't doing anything …" Harry was lost for words. He truly had not put a spell on his uncle. "I didn't even have my wand, how could I have done it?" A thousand confused thoughts were flying around in Harry's head.

"I've had enough of your _abnormality_!" Aunt Petunia shrieked as she got up with weak knees, loose curls coming out of her usually tight bun.

She was just about to walk over to Harry and seize him by the shoulders when Uncle Vernon moaned a warning. "No, Petunia, _don't_, you don't know what he might try on you …" he pleaded. 

Aunt Petunia stopped dead in her tracks and backed away quickly with cowardice. 

Harry sighed in frustration. He had had enough of this nonsense. He _hadn't_ done it. He couldn't see any Ministry of Magic owls swooping down on him anyway. Needless to say, he was unnerved, but it was best now to take advantage of the situation. "Look," he said in a reasonable voice. "My school's not going to expel me anyway, so you might as well give in. Just grant me permission, and you'll be safe."

"Is that a threat, you good-for-nothing prat?" The fear in Uncle Vernon's voice was poorly disguised. He got up from the floor, helping up Dudley.

"Well, maybe I should just call my godfather over to help me with Mrs Figg's chores. He's _really_ strong, being capable of murder and all, you know …"

If Harry thought that his previous Sirius-related remarks were good, then that last one was a masterpiece. Uncle Vernon immediately relented. 

"Okay, okay, you can go … but just do some chores over at Mrs Figg's until whatever time you have to be picked up, okay?"

"And stay away from my Dudley!" Aunt Petunia added.

They were just going to leave when Uncle Vernon turned around, looking like he had swallowed a bag of green apples. "Uhh, these _friends_ of yours … how are they coming to pick you up?" Obviously the fireplace incident was still clear in the Dursleys' mind. 

Harry laughed out loud. "Don't worry," he assured them. "They'll be coming by car."  

***

Harry knocked on the door of Mrs Figg's, half expecting Snowy or Mr Paws to attack him in the face when the door opened, which was what had happened the last time. Mrs Figg's cottage was an old fashioned, three-room flat two streets away. He had previously been there for quite a number of times, especially when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were taking Dudley out, and couldn't trust him in the house alone. 

As much as Harry had explained that he would be perfectly all right in the house by himself, his resentful relatives had always thought they would come back to find the house reduced to rubble, or worse.  

The rusty old door opened, and Mrs Figg's lined, thin faced appeared. She also wore glasses perched on her long bony nose, and wore a lacy apron frayed and yellow with age. Harry caught the all-too-familiar cabbage-like stench as he stepped in through the threshold.  

Mrs Figg's flat looked the same as the last time he had been in there. There were cats everywhere, some lying on the crocheted covers of the mismatched chairs, others on the old pine shelves, or just curled up snugly in a dark corner somewhere. The ceiling was low, and the few windows around the house did nothing to lighten up the room, nor the atmosphere. Mrs Figg led him into the kitchen and twenty pairs of sharp, intense feline eyes followed. 

The _thud thudding_ echoed eerily around the house as the ancient old lady's walking stick hit the floorboards. Harry felt an unexpected shiver go down his spine. He had never felt this way before; the only strong feeling he had had in this place previously was 'Urgh, cabbage, get me outta here!'

"Now, you can start with the washing over here at the sink, I take it you know how to wash dishes?" Mrs Figg inquired in her croaking voice, peering down at Harry behind those gold-rimmed glasses of hers. 

Harry started on the breakfast dishes in the sink, angrily cursing the mad old lady: couldn't she do her own dishes herself? He cleaned and scrubbed away furiously, sensing rather than seeing Mrs Figg's deep grey eyes bore a hole in his back as she stared deeply at him.  

He finally turned around in frustration, not being able to stand the goose pimples on his back anymore. 

"What?" Harry demanded heavily, staring back at Mrs Figg.

"Nothing … just that you remind me of a girl that I once knew …" she replied lightly, a dreamy-looking expression on her face.

Harry stared.

"She was very … very beautiful …"

Now Harry's eyes were virtually falling out of his sockets in shock. Mrs Figg actually complimenting him? It was very extraordinary, a very un-Mrs Figg-like thing to do. Also, the remark was not unlike what he got from some of his teachers at Hogwarts, in reference to his dead mother, Lily Potter. He could remember very clearly what Hagrid, the Hogwarts groundskeeper had said to him: "Yeh look like yer mum, Harry, yeh've got her eyes …"

(A/N: I'm not sure if Hagrid ever said that in the actual books, I just made this up to suit the passage … so don't go pelting me with reviews saying I've got it wrong.)

What Mrs Figg had just said and what Harry had always heard in the wizarding world were dangerously similar. Surely Mrs Figg didn't have a clue who his parents were …

Then suddenly Harry remembered what had happened last year in the wizarding world, where he had been reminded of Mrs Figg twice, even though the old lady was a Muggle. At the World Quidditch Cup, the tent he had stayed in had closely resembled Mrs Figg's flat. He had just passed it up as a coincidence. The second time, Dumbledore had mentioned an 'Arabella Figg' when he had told Snape to find some wizards to join them in their fight against Voldemort. 

But Mrs Figg couldn't possible be a witch, she was an old faggot with nothing else on her mind but cats, cats and cats. On the other hand, how many Figgs' could there be? In the wizarding world, it was generally expected for the unexpected to happen …

"You awake?" Mrs Figg's croak penetrated Harry's perplexed thoughts. _Nah, she couldn't be a witch …_ Harry thought as he glared at the old woman who was hunched up and clenching her walking stick tightly in one hand. Still, he might ask, just to make sure …

"Uh, this may seem strange, but what's your first name?" He realised how totally stupid and irrelevant the question was once it left his mouth.

Mrs Figg looked confused. "Why do you ask?" she mumbled. "Well, if you really want to know, my first name is Arabella …"

Harry felt his stomach tighten and he literally dropped the plate he was carrying. The china plate, already cracked at the edges and still covered in soapsuds, fell for the ground before Harry could stop it.

But the plate never touched the floor. It slowed down about a few inches from the floorboards, then turned swiftly around and flew straight into the outstretched hands of Mrs Figg.

"_God_, be careful," she chided, examining the plate delicately. "This is one of my favourite china pieces …" She frowned at the crack on the side, pointed her walking stick at it and said, '_Reparo'_. The crack disappeared. 

Harry was too surprised to say anything. He backed away slowly, his eyes never leaving Mrs Figg's calm ones.

"For god's sake, Harry Potter, don't freak out. I think it's time I tell you who I really am." Mrs Figg pulled back a chair from the nearby kitchen table and sat down swiftly, suddenly lithe and agile, even though she was without the aid of her walking stick. She beckoned for Harry to do the same.

"I reckoned from the instance you were interested in my name that Dumbledore had already spoken of me in front of you," she began casually. "Tea, Harry?"

Harry, amazed at what she had to say and stunned at her sudden spurt of politeness, accepted the tea distantly through a sea of raging thoughts.  

"Your … voice -" he started, still finding it hard to form words. "It's different …"

"Yes, it's gone back to normal, hasn't it? I was getting quite tired of that overworn voice box. In fact, I think I'll change my alarming looks back to normal right now as well." A different voice said. This voice was higher, sweeter and younger-sounding. 

And with that, Arabella Figg taped herself with her walking stick (which Harry could by this time figure out was a concealed wand) and whispered something Harry couldn't quite make out. She changed in front of Harry's disbelieving eyes. 

Harry gaped at the person sitting in front of him. What had been a wrinkly old lady with gaps in her teeth had transformed into a pretty woman in her mid-thirties, who had straight brown hair and olive-coloured skin.

"Wow … you're a witch …" was all he could say. 

"Quite a difference, heh?" the woman said, smiling to reveal straight pearl-like teeth. "Much as I hate to admit it, Mrs Figg was _foul._ No dress sense whatsoever." She taped herself again and her piniform and apron were immediately transformed into jeans and a sensible blouse.

"Much better. Now, down to business." Arabella said, and her expression immediately turned sombre. "Dumbledore assigned me here, just so I could be there just in case you needed me. By some strange turns of events, I had to be an old grouchy lady so that the Dursleys would be able to trust me with you. I wasn't supposed to reveal my true witch identity." She frowned, taping her forehead pensively. "The Headmaster seems to think that it would be appropriate to show myself now: "As soon as Harry starts to mention something out of the ordinary, you will know that he has some suspicions. Waste no time and explain everything to him," were his exact words." 

"So …" Harry said, unsure of what to say, gratified at what great lengths Dumbledore had went to in order to maintain his safety. "You did all this so I would be safe?"

Arabella ran her long slender fingers through her hair. Her face looked distant, as though she was recalling something from her memory of long ago. "It was also for your mother." She said. Harry gaped at her.

"I knew your mum. She was a kind and beautiful woman. We were best friends all through school, and kept in close contact even afterwards when she had married her childhood sweetheart. Quite swept her off her feet, I think James Potter did …"

"You knew my father as well?"

"Of course! They were both Head Girl and Boy of their day! They were so cute together … him playing with her fiery hair while she did his homework for him …" Arabella trailed off abstractedly, then returned her gaze at Harry. They were filled with sympathy. "Lily and James Potter were very important to me … then – then _he_ killed them, just like that …" Arabella said, her voice shaking. Harry saw that her face was contorted in bitter hatred, and her fists were clenched. Suddenly he couldn't hold back the tears that had been forming in his emerald eyes.

He wiped his eyes quickly with the back of his hand, and felt Arabella pat him on his back in a motherly sort of way.

"Maybe one of these days I'll tell you some things that had happened to your parents when they were in Hogwarts. I don't think now is a very good time …" she said.

Harry nodded, and felt better.    

"Now, is there anything you want to ask me? Anything that you have doubts about? Remember that you can always call on me for help when you run into trouble while here at Privet Drive." Arabella's eyes were genuine, sincere.

Harry considered telling her about his weird dreams: Nah. She wouldn't be able to understand; only Sirius knows the state of my nightmares … he thought.

"Err … there is something I think you might be interested in, that happened today. It all started when my friend Ron wanted me to stay over at his place for the rest of the summer …" and Harry told Arabella the incident of him *strangling* Uncle Vernon.

Her reaction was unexpected. Arabella stood up so suddenly, her chair toppled over backwards. "Nonwander," she managed to articulate.

Harry though he must have heard wrongly. "Huh?"

"You're a Nonwander, Harry!" Arabella exclaimed, clapping her hands on Harry's shoulders in excitement.

"A what?" Harry asked, confused by her behaviour.

"A Nonwander, Harry! Someone who is able to perform specific spells without the aid of a wand!" Arabella squealed, her amber-coloured eyes dancing in enthusiasm.

"I can perform spells without a wand?" Harry asked, still befuddled. "Then how come I've never done it before?" 

Arabella managed to calm down, and sat down again. "A Nonwander," she explained, "has the power to perform specific spells only if they desire it greatly. That's why you've never done this before, Harry; you've never wanted to strangle your Uncle so badly like this morning. I suggest to you that you never do that again, you could get someone hurt," she said with a smile on her face.

"Wow, how come I've never heard of this Nonwander thing? How come I haven't seen any Nonwanders yet?" Harry tried to contain his excitement.

"A Nonwander is extremely, extremely rare. In the history of magic, so far, with the exception of you, there has only ever been two Nonwanders."

"That's it? Two?" Harry was amazed. "Who were they?"

"Well, the first one was Godric Gryffindor. It was him who invented the term, thinking that soon there would be Nonwanders all over the world. But he was wrong." Arabella told him. She hesitated when he asked who the other person was. 

"The other Nonwander was – James Potter."

"My father?" Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Yes, James. And he did put it to very good use during his time at Hogwarts, I believe. Sneaked quite a few feasts from the kitchens, he did …" Arabella chuckled. "I'm sorry that no one has ever mentioned to you that he was a Nonwander, we had thought it'll be too much for you … but now obviously there's no danger of that."

"Wow … wait till Ron and Hermione hears about this …" Harry said.

"But you mustn't go around telling everyone. Nonwanders' powers are very mysterious. We don't want people coming up to you, befriending you just so they could exploit your powers. Also, Voldemort could be anywhere."

Harry mentally took note of her not being afraid to say Voldemort's name. Sirius, Remus Lupin, Dumbledore, all those light wizards hadn't been afraid to either.

"You know, Harry Potter …" Arabella began, cupping her face in her hands and staring at Harry with rapt admiration. "You're practically the boy with the works. You defeated Voldemort, the darkest wizard in a century when you were a _baby_; you escaped from him in your first and fourth year, sort of in your second year too. You're the only one to have ever survived a death curse, you can talk to snakes: a Parselmouth, _and_ you're a Nonwander: you can perform specific and possibly potent magic without the aid of a wand. God, I wouldn't be surprised if all the girls at Hogwarts were throwing themselves at you …"

"Arabella … stop it …" Harry said, blushing. "You'll gonna give me a swelled-up head …"    

*******

The Dudley couldn't believe their eyes that afternoon when Harry came back from Mrs Figg's, grinning mysteriously from ear to ear. Usually when he came back he would be covered in grime and utterly miserable, but today he was in high spirits, and was spotless from head to toe. In fact, Harry also seemed to have had a good lunch, which angered the Dursleys even more: all they had had for their meal were celery and carrot sticks. 

"I had a really good morning, didn't you?" Harry said as he smirked at his relatives, burping heavily for good measure. "Mrs Figg was lovely. The chocolate cake she baked me was scrumptious, but my favourite had to be the triple-fudge strawberry sundae with chopped nuts and caramel."

He watched his fuming cousin carefully, and was pleased to see that Dudley's mouth was wide open in desire, and drool was pouring out by the buckets. The truth was that Mrs Figg did feed him that; with the aid of a few charms she had whipped up a meal in no time.

Harry went upstairs and made sure everything was packed up: his suitcase of books, his precious broomstick, and Hedwig's empty cage. He hoped Hedwig would know where to find him when she came back from her trip. Making one last check to see that he had cleared every nook and cranny of his room, he dragged his things down the stairs. 

The Weasleys were due to come at four. Ron had said they would be 'coming by car' but somehow Harry got the feeling it was too ordinary to be true.

The Dursleys, meanwhile, were rushing around the living room in a frenzied state of anxiety and panic. Poor Dudley remembered all too well the pain and terror he had went through upon the previous visit of the Weasleys, when his tongue had swelled up to a foot long.

Harry's thoughts were rudely interrupted by a blaze of sound echoing throughout the room. It sounded like the doorbell being rung repeatedly. The Dursleys jumped about a mile off the ground, particularly Dudley, who let out a yelp and left the room as fast as his fat little legs would carry him.

Uncle Vernon, also with his hands over his ears, crept over to the front door timidly, giving Harry an 'if-these-are-those-stupid-Weasleys-than-you-are-dead' look. Aunt Petunia hid behind her bulky husband, shivering from head to toe. Uncle Vernon wrenched the door open with a determined look on his face, followed by his wife who peeked out from behind his plump shoulder like a timid mouse …

"AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!" The chiming of the doorbell had been a whisper compared to their shrieks. 

"What's wrong? What happened?" Harry ran over to them hurriedly with a crazy thought that Voldemort might have just arrived at the front door. 

He pulled out his wand, stepping over the Uncle Vernon-Aunt Petunia heap on the ground, only to find …

"_Ron?_"  

Ronald Weasley's guilty face appeared from behind the door. 

"I'm really sorry, Harry … it was Fred's idea, really …" he hastily explained, the crimson colour on his face matching his fiery crown of hair. Ron held up a Halloween mask in his skinny hands. 

"We thought it might be funny if we … er … gave your relatives a bit of a surprise … you know …"

Harry took one look at the rubber mask and had to restrain himself from laughing out loud. The mask was obviously Muggle-made, depicting a very stereotyped kind of witch, complete with hairy warts and dangling eyeballs.

"We just thought it'll be funny, I never thought they'll freak out like this …" Ron's eyes darted nervously over to the quivering lump on the ground. Dudley's desperate cries could be heard from the kitchen. "And the funny little button at the door, what was that?" His face lit up. "Could it have been a Door Dell? Dad's told me about those. I hoped it worked."

"Worked?" Harry grinned. "It nearly deafened us."

"Wow, Harry - no offence, but your relatives sure are chicken …" another voice said. George and Fred Weasley appeared from behind Ron, identical mocking grins on their freckled-filled faces. 

"Getting all hyped up over a rubber mask … blimey …"

Uncle Vernon stood up shakily, a nerve twitching madly on his purple face. The three wizards hadn't bothered to wear any Muggle clothes, to add to his fury. He had had enough. "OUT _NOW_!" he yelled, his face screwed up in hatred. Aunt Petunia stood up with a forbidding look on her face. 

"_GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU LITTLE TWERP, BEFORE I KILL YOU_!"

Harry opened his mouth in indignation, but George pushed him aside and advanced on Uncle Vernon, a frown on his face.

"Hey Mr Vernon, that wasn't fair. You shouldn't have yelled at Harry, it wasn't even his fault!"

"I DON'T CARE! JUST GET OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW! _NOW_!" And with that, Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry's suitcase and threw it out of the door.

"GET OUT, I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AND THOSE _WEIRDOS_ AGAIN!" He pushed Harry over the threshold, a ruthless look in his piggy eyes. 

It was too much for any ordinary, self-respecting fifteen-year-old wizard.

"_Fine_! I hate this hellhole of a house anyway!" Harry yelled in reply, his eyes blazing up in flames of emerald-coloured fire. "I'm leaving!"

"C'mon Harry, let's go," Ron mumbled quietly as he dragged Harry away from the door. Fred grabbed the suitcase that was lying on the gravel driveway, giving Uncle Vernon the dirtiest looks he knew.

"And don't come back!" The front door shut firmly behind them.

Harry walked over to the roadside with the Weasleys, feeling crushed. He had to discuss the idea of leaving the Dursleys permanently with Dumbledore; he didn't think he could stand another day with his disgusting relatives without blowing their heads off. Not only had his uncle insulted his friends, they had also had one of their biggest fights ever. And all over an innocent prank …

"Now … let's see, where's that carpet?" Fred stopped to extract something from his voluminous sleeve. Out came a large …

"_Carpet?" _Harry tried to put his jaw back in place, staring at the purple contraption floating about a foot off the ground in front of him.

"Dad has a whole bunch of these at home that he confiscated from that what's-his-face … that Ali Baba guy? … anyway, we … er – _borrowed one,_" George said a bit too quickly. "It's in perfect condition too."

Harry eyed the carpet a little dubiously, worried abut getting into trouble again, like that Ford Anglia fiasco back in his second year. "You sure it's legal?"

"Err … no," Ron replied a little guilty. "But it's got an invisibility booster installed, so no one should see us … it'll be perfectly safe." But he didn't look too sure. 

"Oh, come on, don't chicken out on us," Fred said, hopping onto the carpet. It didn't look as though it'd support the weight of four teenage boys, a heavy suitcase, a broom, and an owl cage. 

Praying that there were no prying Muggle eyes around, Harry clambered rather awkwardly onto the carpet with his luggage, followed by Ron and George. Surprisingly, the carpet didn't even sag under all the extra weight. It did, however, fly off so quickly Harry nearly slipped off. 

"Urgh," he said with amazing calmness, one hand clutched firmly onto the carpet for dear life, the other holding the suitcase, and somehow managing to tuck his Firebolt and cage under his arms. It wasn't as bad as he had thought, not much different than riding a broom, really, but he didn't have the comfort, control and balance that his Firebolt usually provided him with. Harry thought he could just hear Dudley scream, "_Mum, they're flying off on a magic carpet!"_ before the carpet gained height with frightening speed, and soon Number Four of Privet Drive was just a tiny little dot, amongst the rest of Little Whinging. 

"We're still able to see ourselves, but no one else can," Fred explained confidently as they soared through the clouds. "Don't worry, Dad won't notice a _thing _when we get home. He had wanted to drive over to Privet Drive himself-" 

"But we reassured him that we'll be fine getting you to Ottery St Catchpole by broomsticks." George continued. "He's being rather worn out lately anyway. Not to worry about getting caught, Harry," he said, helping to share Harry's load, so that he wouldn't have to struggle so much. 

After a while, Harry finally was able to relax on the carpet. Fred and George were bubbly and excited about having smuggled Harry from the Muggles in a flying carpet.  

To pass the time, the Weasleys told Harry what they had been up to during the holidays. Fred and George, thanks to Harry's contribution of his Triwizard Tournament prize money last year, had being busy making plans for their joke shop, _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_. Ron had been practising his flying in the past few weeks. He had been hoping to make it into the Quidditch team. 

Quidditch was a highly popular wizard game played on broomsticks, with seven players on a team, three hoops on each side and four different balls whizzing around. Harry played Seeker for his house Gryffindor, and he couldn't wait to start the season. He hadn't played at all last year, due to the Triwizard Tournament, and was determined to win the Quidditch House cup this year. 

"I reckon I could make it onto the team if I tried really hard," Ron said, "Even Ginny admits I'm improving."

Harry blushed, remembering the bizarre events in his second year at Hogwarts, when he had saved Ron's younger sister, Virginia Weasley's life. Ginny had had an immense crush on him since her first year at Hogwarts, and Harry hoped very much that she would go easier on him this year. 

"You're blushing, Harry," Ron said sternly. For some reason, he didn't look too pleased. 

"No, I'm not," Harry replied hotly. "Why would I be?" he looked up uneasily to see the Weasley twins with identical evil sneers.

"Oh, give him a break, Ronniekins. Harry has no interest in our little Ginny, he's got another fish to fry," George alleged meaningfully, shooting his twin a meaningful glance, causing the both of them to burst into laughter. 

"Who are you talking about?" Harry asked furiously amidst the chuckling.

"Oh, no one, really." Fred tried to hold back a snort. "Just a particular beautiful, sixth year Ravenclaw seeker with long black hair …" his words trailed off, leaving Harry speechless.

Cho Chang. Who else could it be but beautiful, smart, sporty, sensitive and sexy Cho-

"Harry! Snap out of it!" Ron waved a hand in front of Harry's face. He looked at him with disgust. "Eww. You've been drooling, Harry." 

Harry shook himself, clearing all thoughts of the pretty Ravenclaw. "I _do not_ like Cho," he stated quite unconvincingly. 

Ron raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Right," he agreed sarcastically. "And our bushy-haired, nerdy friend isn't cut out to be a prefect." The last sentence was delivered rather harshly, and Ron's whole face changed from mischievous to forbidding. Harry sensed that it had more to do with Hermione Granger than him denying he liked Cho.

"What's Hermione got to do with this?" Harry asked, puzzled. Then he remembered how indifferent Ron had sounded in his letter telling him of Hermione's good news. "Don't tell me that you're jealous of her?"

Ron's face was perilously scarlet. "So what if I am? She's been doing nothing but bragging about her wonderful piece of grimy badge all summer, d'ya think I could stand her?" Ron turned away from Harry; hands folded resolutely over the lovely Firebolt, an obstinate look in his eyes. 

"Ron, you're not making sense," Harry said, surprised at the sudden change of mood in the atmosphere. "You shouldn't be mad at Hermione over such a small matter."

Ron whipped his head around faster than you could pull a string, his face of unmasked anger. "Why _shouldn't_ I be mad at Hermione?" he spat. "She's the one with the _perfect _brains and the _perfect_ grades and the _perfect_ prefect badge!" Fred and George exchanged questioning glances. 

"Ron, this is ridiculous. Why should we care so much about being made prefects? I mean, we haven't exactly been angels, have we? And Hermione deserves it. She's been working hard for her goal, and now that she's got it, you're jealous of her?" Harry reasoned. "How 'bout we forget about this absurd prefect-thing?"

"Don't tell me what to and what not to do!" Ron whispered back in a dangerously soft voice, his face matching his fiery hair in colour. "You're not my brother."

"But we are," George and Fred interrupted. "Stop being such a baby, Ron. We don't expect you to be like Charlie and Bill and Percy. I mean, so what if the teachers preferred you to Hermione? So what if you failed to be what Mum wanted? I mean, it's not as though you were on your best behaviour and had failed to be made a prefect …" 

"Thanks a lot, brother dears," Ron yelled sardonically. "I really needed that!" He slammed his hands into his lap, narrowly missing the broom - as though to emphasise his feelings - with more force than was necessary, his jaw set in a stubborn jut. It seemed that Fred and George Weasley had touched a raw nerve.

Harry made to approach his best friend, but was stopped by the twins running their fingers across their throats and making choking sounds. It seemed best to let Ron cool down.

The rest of the carpet trip was spent in silence. Slowly the scenery below them became familiar. The carpet started to head for the ground, and Harry felt that familiar drop of the stomach, as though he was making a dive for the Snitch. Finally it touched down onto the ground, and all four passengers and Harry's luggage tumbled out roughly. 

Harry stood up, a little tipsy, to look out to see his favourite place in the world (next to Hogwarts, of course): The Burrow, where all seven of the Weasleys lived. (Bill and Charlie, the oldest sons, were overseas). It was a cosy, friendly place, even though it looked like rooms being added to a stone pigsty, and Harry knew he loved every inch of it, including the crooked seven storeys. 

"I've got Harry's things," Ron said stiffly, as he grabbed Harry's suitcase, broom and cage with surprising strength and headed for the house without a glance backwards.

"Don't worry, Harry," George said, noticing his concerned expression. "Ron's being like this ever since Hermione arrived with her prefect's badge. Nothing to get so worked up about, if you asked me, but then again …" he shook his head, "some mysterious things can never be explained, and younger brothers are one of them." 

Fred rolled the carpet back into his sleeve, and quickly fished out three broomsticks from the nearby cardboard. 

"But wouldn't your Mum think it was dangerous to fly over England on broomsticks?" Harry asked worriedly. 

George shook his head. "Don't worry," he said, "Mum and Dad've been so busy they'd hardly notice. Trust us." Saying that, the twins made their way in through the Burrow's back door, to return the carpet in secret.


	3. Faterex and the Mirror of Doom

A/N: Just found out something when uploading these chapters, I can't remove the last chapter because it's not allowed, so it'll just have to stay there until I replace it with better content. Damn it!!! So can I trust you not to read the last chapter? Just ignore it, it's basically the same thing. Thank you. The next chapter will be up in a week, hopefully. Chapter Three 

**Faterex and the Mirror of Doom**

"Harry!" a shrill cry rang out from the Burrow. The doors flung open to reveal a skinny girl with bushy brown hair. She beamed and ran over to Harry, almost knocking him over as she enveloped him in a bear hug.

"Err … hi, Hermione," Harry said, quite taken aback from this sudden spurt of affection from his other best friend. 

"Oh … Harry, I was so worried about you," Hermione gushed, completely ignoring Ron as he walked past her into the house. "What with You-Know-Who being more powerful and all, I thought he might come back for you anytime. Are you okay?" She put an arm around his shoulders rather awkwardly as they made their way into the house. Harry thought he heard a small "_Humph_!" from Ron in front of them. He had a feeling the reason Hermione was acting like an overprotective hen was to provoke Ron. 

"I'm fine," he said as they stepped into the hall with Ron nowhere in sight. "I'm very safe at Privet Drive, Voldemort wouldn't dare to hurt me there."

"Yeah, whatever." Hermione threw him a sceptical look. "What would your relatives do to protect you? Run after You-Know-Who with saucepans?" she scoffed. "And please don't say his name, Harry. It gives me the creeps."

Harry barely had time to picture the Dursleys chase Voldemort around Privet Drive with their cookware when he was, for the second time that day, given another hug enough to choke the lungs out of him. He moved away from the person, feeling disoriented, and with his glasses dangling at a wild angle off his chin.

"_Harry_," Mrs Weasley smiled warmly at him. She was a short, chubby woman with a kindly look on her face; the aunt Harry never had. 

"I've been so worried about you!" She led them into the living room where Mr Weasley had just retired from the day's work. Harry realised with a jolt that what the twins said about their parents was true. Both Molly and Arthur seemed to have aged twenty years in advance, with well-defined lines on their faces.

"How are you, Harry?" Arthur Weasley asked from the couch, looking ready to collapse with fatigue as he nursed a cup of steaming hot coffee. He was a tall, thin man who was working for the Ministry of Magic, the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. He looked worn-out as usual, and grey hairs replaced whatever flaming red ones he had left on his head. Harry knew that now, with all the extra work in the light of Voldemort's _rumoured_ return, work at the Ministry of Magic must have been hectic to say the least. He didn't even bother to ask where Fred and George were.

"How's it going at the Ministry?" Harry asked the tired wizard.

Mr Weasley mopped his forehead with a hanky. "I've just got back, it's been hell as usual. The things some wizards do …" he shook his head, as though clearing himself of puzzling thoughts. "Hot chocolate, Harry?"

Harry accepted the drink. Ron marched straight up the stairs with Harry's luggage, not even bothering to acknowledge his parents. He saw Mr and Mrs Weasley exchange troubled glances. Hermione, perched next to Harry on the couch, threw Ron an exasperated look.

Mrs Weasley looked uncomfortable. "Um, Harry, I'm so sorry about Ron … I don't know what's up with him - he's been like this ever since  …" she trailed off awkwardly.

"So Mr Weasley …" Hermione changed the subject abruptly, "what _has_ been going on at the Ministry lately?"

"Has there been anything from Vol-uh, You-Know-Who?" Harry asked, and even Molly Weasley's expression turned to one of grim apprehension.  

"Well … Cornelius Fudge has been trying to hide things as usual," Mr Weasley spoke softly. "But the three deaths so far … just yesterday, a witch was found dead in her home in Devon," He looked regretful the moment the words left his mouth. Mrs Weasley gave him a look cold enough to freeze water.

"Arthur! You needn't have told them!"

"But Molly, it's important they know … after all, they're almost fifteen-"

"And that gives you reason to put them in trepidation?" 

"_Molly_ …" 

"Come on, let's go upstairs," Harry told Hermione. "They seemed to have forgotten about us." Hermione nodded and they went up the stairs, leaving the couple behind on opposite sides of the couch, still engaged in a heated argument. 

They were on the third landing when a door slammed open, and without admonition a slender figure stepped out in her lavender bathrobes, a towel wrapped around her hair. Green cream covered her entire face, only leaving two clear patches to show a pair of large brown eyes. The brown eyes turned over to the staircase to see a frozen Harry with his left leg poised in mid-flight, and enlarged in shock. Before Harry could register what he had witnessed, a large squeak was emitted from the youngest Weasley as she immediately turned around and bolted to the safety of her room as fast as her fluffy rabbit slippers would allow her.  

"_What_?" Harry demanded in annoyance from a giggling Hermione as they made their way up.

"You should have seen your face," she said impishly, trying to fight her giggles as they reached the bedroom where she was staying. 

"I was just surprised, is all," Harry protested. "Besides, what was that green muck she had on anyway?"

"Avocado spread. You know, sometimes it's best to treat your skin using the good old Muggle way …"

"What traditional way? Smear gunk on your face and run around the house looking like Quirrell?" Indeed, Ginny's towel reminded him strangely of the eccentric yet evil Defence of the Dark Arts teacher they had had in their first year.

"_Harry_, that wasn't a turban, it was to keep her hair conditioned." Hermione opened the door of the fourth landing to show Harry the small guest room the Weasleys had let her use. It looked out onto the back yard, where Fred and George were busy de-gnoming. 

"Speaking of which, do you have any idea who are we going to have for our DADA teacher this year? I'm getting tired of having to get used to new teachers every year."

"No idea," Harry shrugged, "I still liked Professor Lupin the best." Professor Remus Lupin had been their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in Harry's third year, and he had been an old classmate of James Potter. Unfortunately, the fact that he was actually a werewolf had been spread out in school, and Professor Lupin had resigned. Harry missed him immensely. 

"Maybe we'll get a nice, decent witch this time." Hermione flicked an invisible speck of dust off her dressing table. "I'm sick of all these nasty surprises we're getting every year."

"Mmhmm." Harry murmured in agreement. His attention, however, was focused on the stack of books Hermione had arranged neatly beside her bed in alphabetical order. "_The Life and Death of Godric Gryffindor?"_

"By his great-great-great granddaughter, Louisa Gryffindor," Hermione added. She took the gigantic leather-bound book out of the pile, flipping through the pages. Harry caught a glimpse of pictures containing weird-looking wizards who waved rather monotonously at him, and lots and lots of miniscule fancy writing. "It makes for quite interesting reading, actually. Did you know that Gryffindor was a Nonwander?"     

"Nonwander?" Harry murmured, a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him to tell Hermione that he was one too. 

"Yeah," Hermione replied chirpily, "they're wizards who are able to perform specific magic without using a wand." She sighed. "Wouldn't that be soooooo cool?"

"Err …" said Harry, feigning curiosity. "But isn't everyone able to do that? I mean, I blew up my Aunt back in third year and all that-"

"Yeah, but that was merely triggered by anger or strong emotions," Hermione replied intelligently. "Godric Gryffindor started out with freak accidents like that too, but with understanding and practice he was soon able to channel those feelings into direct commands. Imagine how powerful his powers must have been …" she shuddered. "Godric Gryffindor would have been able to kill anyone just by wishing it …"

Harry shuddered. He wasn't sure he wanted this kind of power. However tempting it was, starting the school year with the murdering of Snape or Draco Malfoy was not exactly beneficial to his school career. "Hey, Hermione, d'ya think I could borrow it for awhile?"

"Here," Hermione hurled him the book, and he caught it, nearly plummeting to the ground with its dead weight.

"Thanks," Harry said. Perhaps he'd be able to take a leaf out of Gryffindor's book, and learn to control his powers carefully. 

Hermione nodded, then her hazel-coloured (A/N: is that the right colour?) eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, oh! I almost forgot!" she shrieked, hopping off the ledge of her bed. "All this nonsense with Ron must be getting to me …" she rubbed her temples with the air of one suffering from immense fatigue. "I can't believe I forgot …"

Hermione hurried across the room and opened her suitcase, fishing out a parcel wrapped in bright gold paper. "Here, your birthday present." Her smile grew when she saw the look of astonishment on her best friend's face.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said as he tore off the packaging. 

Out fell a material so soft to the touch he though it was an Invisibility Cloak. The fabric, however, was a shimmering scarlet, with little golden blurs over it. On closer inspection they were actually vague impressions of minute golden snitches flying around. Harry brought it out to its full length; it was a dress robe.

Hermione saw the frozen look on Harry's look. "Do you like it?" her eyes were alight with anticipation.

"Like it?" Harry exclaimed, feeling a huge lump in his throat. "I _love _it." The dress robe felt smooth and slippery through his fingers, and he felt a surge of energy rush through him with every touch.

"This is made of a material call Faterex, it's supposed to bring the wearer of it good luck." Hermione twirled a strand of hair around her fingers, flushing modestly. "I've been so worried about your safety, I thought this robe might help. Promise me you'll keep it near you. " She couldn't keep the grin off her face, but that was replaced by alarm when Harry leapt forward, swept her off her feet and into a hug so tight she found it hard to breathe. 

"Thank you, Hermione," Harry's voice was muffled, buried in her hair.  

Hermione could only squeeze harder in reply. They stood there for a while in each other's arms, feeling the warm and fuzzy feeling inside, knowing they each had a good friend … 

"I think I should go to my room now." Harry pulled back, still carrying the Nonwander book in one hand, and Hermione's present in the other.  "Ron looked like he could do with some cheering up." He thought it was best that his friends knew nothing of his secret – yet.

"Don't mind Ron," Hermione advised Harry as he left the room. "His ruddy foul temper needs some time to be cleared up." 

***

Harry reached the fifth and last landing, where Ron's bedroom was situated, trying not to smile at what had just happened. He reached the familiar door with its 'Ronald's Room' plague attached to it, and knocked cautiously, still holding his present as though it was a precious piece of china.

"Enter," said a sulky voice from behind the door. 

Harry went in, and it took a few blurry moments for his eyes to adjust to the sudden burst of bright orange that seemed to have jumped from the walls and leapt straight at him. He had stayed in Ron's room quite a few times, but the bizarreness of it never failed to intrigue him. 

Harry's head almost bumped into the ceiling if it wasn't for him sloping slightly on purpose. He wondered how Ron, who was a good head taller than him this year, managed to survive at all. The spare bed, where he was to sleep on, was set up across the room, and Harry's suitcase and Hedwig's cage were placed on it. 

Ron was sprawled up on his bright-orange Chudley Cannons bedspread, appearing to be reading his old comics: The _Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Harry could tell that he had been fuming from the telltale redness of his ears._

"Reading, Ron?" Harry asked gently.

"Yeah, I'm getting to a real exciting part," Ron replied tediously. 

"Don't see how reading upside-down can be really exciting, though," Harry said with a smile in his voice, taking the comic out of a blushing Ron's hands.  

"What's that you've got?" Ron peered at the gleaming material in Harry's hands, as he folded it with outrageous caution and tucked it safely in his suitcase.

"Hermione's present. A dress robe made of Faterex, supposed to bring me good luck." 

That brought Ron to his feet.

"Sorry, Harry! I can't believe I forgot!" Ron ducked underneath his bed and fished out a package wrapped in blue. It was circular in shape, and seemed extremely heavy from the way Ron was clutching it.  "It must be all that nonsense with Hermione, I forgot all about it."

Harry barely had time to be amused that the Ron and Hermione had said and done exactly the same thing, when he thrust the parcel in his arms, wishing him a Happy Belated Birthday. 

Harry opened the package, and saw why it would have been impossible for Pigwidgeon to carry it across England. Staring back at him, enclosed inside a golden frame was his own reflection. Ron had given him a mirror. Harry ran his fingers through the intricately engraved words that ran along the top of the frame: ' _Doom dela Ecnoc Ruo Ytube Cafr Uoyton Wohsi.'  It reminded him oddly of the Mirror of Erised he had ran across in his first year, with its strange words and two clawed feet at the bottom to keep the mirror upright._

"No, this is not the Mirror of Erised," Ron said, seeing Harry's puzzled expression. "Go on, look at your reflection again, Harry."

Feeling apprehensive, Harry peered into the mirror again. A skinny, dark-haired boy stared back at him. This boy had a ghost of a smile on his face, but his eyebrows were raised in bafflement, and what seemed like question marks were floating around his head. 

"What do you see?" Ron asked.

"Question marks floating around my head. Literally."

"That's what the Mirror of Doom does, it shows your true feelings."

"_Doom?"_

"Yeah," Ron said casually, as though Doom was a very cheerful word. "Other way round for mood. Promise me you'll keep it near you, Harry, and look at it often. The witch behind the counter told me that looking at the Mirror of Doom frequently would clear up all your perplexed feelings."

Harry knew all too well what his best friend meant. 

***

Dinner at the Weasleys was a hectic, but pleasing affair. Mrs Weasley had outdone herself again, with all of Harry's favourite food. Mr Weasley, still slightly embarrassed after that afternoon's events, kept Harry talking with his constant questions about Muggle appliances, such as computers, washing machines, and lawn mowers. 

On the other end of the table, Ron was chatting enthusiastically to his brothers (excluding Percy, who was upstairs finishing his report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation) about a recent Quidditch match.  He wasn't paying much attention to the person sitting next to him.

Hermione, however, didn't seem to mind. She was in an animated discussion with Ginny, _probably on some other fanatic way to treat skin, Harry thought with amusement. Both of them were giggling, and flushing somewhat furiously. _

Around desert, Mrs Weasley surprised everyone with a huge belated birthday cake for Harry. Feeling very embarrassed but nevertheless delighted, Harry blew out the fifteen birthday candles, the very first time he had ever done so.  

He was feeling more contented and comfortable that he had been for ages. He looked around the dinner table, at Mrs Weasley busy making sure everyone got a slab of cake, at Fred, George and Ron chortling with bits of food flying out of their mouth, at Hermione and Ginny laughing, both looking prettier and more at ease than he had ever saw them, and thought: _This is my real home, this is where I belong, with the people I love … if only Voldemort wasn't around to spoil it all … _

***

_"Have you got the things I asked for?" The hooded man in the dark cloak asked. _

_"Just about all of it, your Lord," the other man answered. He was slight in built, but Harry couldn't see his face; the shadow of the night had hidden it well from any prying eyes._

_"Good, good." The taller man nodded his head sullenly. "I suppose there have been no implications?"_

_"No, not at all, your Lord. When Wimple wants to get something done, he will." And with that, the man shrank away into the darkness._

The man in the cloak laughed spitefully. "Really, my dear Gilbert? When Lord Voldemort wants to get something done, he will too."

***

Harry woke up, brow furrowing in distaste, but he did not remember the dream.

***

Molly Weasley moaned at her husband, who was sipping coffee at the kitchen table and looking rather worn out. Arthur had unshaven patches on his chin, and he had bags under his eyes the size of umbrellas. 

"Arthur, dear, do you really have to go to work on a Saturday?" she asked, frowning at the piece of bread in front of her. "Honestly, Arthur, this bread is dismaying. It's as hard as Hagrid's rock cakes. 

"You know Molly, as well as I do," Mr Weasley replied kindly, "that we're not spending any unnecessary money on fancy bread and the such. We'll just have to scrap by with these."

Harry exchanged sympathetic yet infuriated looks with Hermione, who was sitting next to him at the breakfast table, pouring milk onto her Ghoul Crunchies.

Not to be able to afford proper bread? The Weasleys had never exactly been well off, what with Mr Weasley having to feed seven mouths with his pitiful salary, but up until now things hadn't been that bad. What was the Ministry of Magic paying him?

Hermione shot Ron an apologetic look, but Ron was too busy engaging in a Crunchies fight with his twin brothers to notice. Ginny, however, sitting at the other end of the table, looked close to tears. 

"We won't even be able to afford proper bread? Are we going to go bankrupt?" Ginny exclaimed, voicing out the worries Harry and Hermione were too uncomfortable to bring up.

"Of course not, of course not," Mr Weasley mumbled, though there was something disturbing about the way he avoided his daughter's eyes.

"Why are you going to the office anyway, Mr Weasley?" Hermione interrupted, hastily changing the subject. 

"Some paperwork to do on nasty experimental charms, it's not even my department." Mr Weasley sighed wearily. "But we could do with the extra money." 

"Paperwork?" 

"Yeah, like filing, sorting bits of information, typing out reports, that sort of thing." 

_Oh, that sort of thing. Harry could see Ron's thoughts as clearly as though he had written it on his forehead. __Those sort of things that are entirely boring and pointless, but nevertheless take up lots of time and drain your energy, and yet you get paid peanuts for it._

Hermione brightened up. "Oh, can we go too? I mean," she explained, seeing the confused look on Mr Weasley face. "I'll help you with the typing and filing and sorting, I'll do it all for free to ease your burden. I mean, there must be plenty of jobs like this at the Ministry and even if some of the information's classified I can just do the boring stuff and I'll like it anyway, and I know how to do it, I've worked part time at my Mum's dentist clinic before, doing the paperwork you know. I promised I won't stuff things up, and Harry and Ron can help too, and we won't interfere with your work at all, and I've never seen the Ministry before and …" she faltered off, realising she had been rambling. Ron was trying not to laugh at her. Percy was looking disapproving but impressed.

Mrs Weasley looked delighted. "Why, how sweet! That would be very nice of you, Hermione."

"Can I then?" Hermione turned to look at Mr Weasley eagerly. 

"Oh, I don't know, Hermione, I mean, there's so much work to be done, and I'm not sure if the Ministry needs any under-aged employees …" Mr Weasley started, feeling embarrassed that Hermione wanted so much to share his load. 

"She's not under-aged, Dad," Fred pointed out, grinning supporting at her. "Hermione's already fourteen."

"Turning fifteen this September," added Ginny.

"Yeah, go on, dad, you could do with some extra help at the office, you said so yourself last night." George added.

Mrs Weasley turned to her husband, "Go on, Arthur, let her," she persuaded. "Look how nice it is of Hermione to volunteer to help."

"Alright, then," Mr Weasley gave in. "But Hermione, you don't have to do this …"

"I'm coming too," Harry added quickly. "I want to see what the Ministry's like. Coming, Ron?"

Ron groaned reluctantly, but quailed under the pressurising glare Hermione was giving him.  

***

A few minutes later, Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, managing to catch his glasses just in time. He had by no means really mastered the art of travelling via the Floo Network, and by the look of if, probably never would. 

"You okay?" Ron asked, helping Harry to crawl out from the fireplace, soot and dust crumbling from the roof to land on both of their faces. 

When they got out, Ginny, already standing in front of them did a double take, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in shock. "Ekk!" she exclaimed. "Soot monsters from Hell!" 

"Very funny," Ron commented sourly as he cleaned himself up as best as he could. Too bad magic still wasn't allowed outside of school. Hermione emerged from the fireplace, soot-free, finally followed by Mr Weasley.

"Ah, we're all here," he said.

Harry looked around him. They were in a small circular room, with plain cream-coloured walls and very few windows. 

"This is it? The Ministry of Magic?" Hermione asked, nonplussed. 

"Of course not," Ron told her. He had been to his dad's office a couple of times before. "You'll see."

"But there are no openings, no doors, no way of getting anywhere, besides those miniscule windows and that fireplace," Hermione wondered out loud. "_A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot, never mentioned anything about any other ways of travelling." _

Ron snorted, muttering something like "Some bookworms are not as smart as they make out to be."

"Come on kids, stop bickering," Mr Weasley led them to a small counter at the corner of the room, behind which sat a particularly old and dreary looking old witch, with numerous thick volumes of books around her. "Hi Maurice."

"Good morning, Arthur," Maurice replied stiffly. She peered indifferently at Ron and Ginny behind him. "Your children, I suppose," Then her gaze shifted over to where Harry was standing, and her eyes widened considerably. Harry saw, with a sudden surge of annoyance, her grey eyes doing the common routine of sweeping up to his forehead and resting on where his scar was. 

"Could it be? " she stuttered; spit flying out of her dry puckered lips. 

"_Yeah, yeah, all hail to the great Harry Potter, the honourable great saviour of all times, the one who defeated You-Know-Who single-handedly while still in his pram, yeah, yeah," Ron muttered irritably under his breath as Mr Weasley introduced an uncomfortable Harry to a gushing Maurice, who was practically throwing herself at his feet in admiration.  _

"Right," Mr Weasley said hurriedly, before the old witch started badgering Harry for his autograph. "I would like to go to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement please, Committee on Experimental Charms, if you may, Maurice."

"Certainly. Just let Harry finish signing my hat, please," the old witch replied. Hermione saw, to her great amazement, poor Harry cornered by Maurice, forced to sign on her hat. He did not dare to meet his admirer's eyes.

After that particular piece of torture was got over and done with, old Maurice taped her wand on the wall behind her, muttering something inaudible. It was probably a secret password, as what looked like a map appeared on the wall. Harry could make out words like: "_Department of Magical Sports and Games, Beast Division, and __Accidental Magic Reversal Squad." There were all glistening with gold, and Harry saw little dots moving around on the map. He raised an eyebrow at Hermione and Ron, realising he was looking at a more complicated version of the Marauder's Map that he had himself. _

Maurice pointed her wand to the rectangle that was labelled "_Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Committee on Experimental Charms." For a second absolutely nothing happened. _

Then Hermione gave a shriek as something materialised in front of her. It appeared to be a hologram image of some sort, suspended in mid-air. Mr Weasley looked on casually as the large rectangle focused into shape in front of him, mirroring off shimmering light that seemed to have come from within the hologram itself. _Almost like a portal to another realm, Harry thought, staring with fascination at the bright array of colours. ___

"What is _that?" Hermione said, looking like her eyes were going to pop out. _

"Calm down, 'Mione, it's the gateway that transfers us between offices." Ron explained, as though explaining to her about something as simple as how quills worked. 

"Come on," Ginny grabbed her friend's hand, and without warning, leapt straight into the flickering portal. Harry watched, dumbfounded as they stepped right into it and disappeared. He thought he could hear Hermione scream from wherever she was.

"Come on, Harry, this can't be too hard, much better than Floo," Ron teased, dragging Harry with him. They ran straight for the portal before he had any say in the matter.  Harry vaguely heard Maurice biding him farewell, before squeezing his eyes shut. He was expecting a rather colossal collusion, but like that barrier between the normal platforms and Platform Nine and Three Quarters at King's Cross Station, they fell right through it. Harry opened his eyes and caught a cosmic blur of iridescent colours all around him, before he was out again on the other side. He managed to keep his balance, turning around to see Mr Weasley also emerging from the portal.

"That was so cool, wasn't it?" Hermione came up to meet them, like a hyperactive kid at a circus fair. "Now that we're here, I'm so excited, I can't wait!"  

"Funny way to show it though," Ron mused. "Eyes almost poking out in shock, gibbering like an idiot, anyone would've thought you were an unpromising Muggle." 

"Better to be an unpromising Muggle than a Pureblood wizard with no talent or potential in his arts whatsoever." Hermione spat back, hands on her hips. 

"Using these special portals are the only entrance into the offices," Mr Weasley explained to Harry, while Ginny tried unsuccessfully to stop a fight brewing. "They're activated by a special password that changes on a day-to-day basis, so absolutely no one can enter or exit without having to seek an operator first. Tough security measures, eh?"

Harry nodded, wondering how one earth the Ministry had chosen to put their lives in the hands of someone as unreliable as Maurice. Not to sound too conceited, all Voldemort would have to do was use Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself as Harry, and the operator would be falling over herself trying to help him.

They were in a spacious lobby with couches and a counter at the centre, where three professional-looking witches sat on high stools, surrounded by large barn owls and mountains of parchment and envelopes. Above them on the wall, glistened large words that changed colours frequently: _Committee on Experimental Charms, Part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Head of Committee and Chairperson: Gilbert Wimple._

Before Harry could chew over the fact that he had heard the name somewhere before, a strong booming voice broke into his thoughts and put an abrupt end to the verbal brawl between Ron and Hermione. He turned around; to see a petite man of slight built, running over to them, chocolate brown eyes flashing in delight. 

"Gilbert!" Mr Weasley acknowledged, shaking his hands. "Haven't seen you in a while." He turned to them. "Allow me to introduce you to Gilbert Wimple, who has recently been promoted to Head of Committee on Experimental Charms." He broke off, seeing that Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny's eyes seemed permanently attached to the top of Gilbert Wimple's head. He had two bull-like horns sticking out of his head. 

"Now, children, it's rude to stare." Mr Weasley began sternly, but Wimple cut him off with a laugh. "Let them, Arthur. I'm used to it by now. Been having these horns more than a year now. Still can't see why they aren't able to take it off." He winked at them, stroking his smooth ivory horns affectionately, as though proud to be so unique. 

For a man with such a loud and confident voice, Gilbert Wimple seemed just a tad on the small side. Even Ginny, who was the shortest of the group, seemed to tower over him. However, Wimple chatted friendly as he led them around the Committee office while Mr Weasley got started on the paperwork in a spare room. 

"I'll be fine," he had assured them as he sat down in front of a desk with a typewriter and spare bits of parchment. "Just follow Mr Wimple, and don't cause any mischief."

"I'll come and help you as soon as we're finished," Hermione quipped as they left, dragged along by the overenthusiastic Head.

He seemed very interested in Harry, and kept asking him things like, "So how does it feel to have beaten the Dark Lord when you were just a baby, and loosing your parents in the process?" and "I bet you're top of your class heh, your remaining relatives must be very proud of you." To which both questions Harry could only grunt vaguely in reply, wondering how on earth such a thick man like Gilbert Wimple could have been appointed as Head. Ginny, Ron and Hermione were both flashing the little man looks of intolerance, wondering if he would ever shut up.

When they finally managed to shrug Wimple off, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny made their way back to the office where Mr Weasley had been. While Ginny ran ahead by herself, Harry dawdled behind with Hermione and Ron. 

"What's up, Harry?" Ron asked. "You look horrible."

"I wouldn't blame him, what with being harassed by that Wimple," Hermione said crossly.

Harry shook his head. "It's not that. It's just that I have this bizarre feeling I've seen Gilbert Wimple before … sort of like …" He frowned. How to elucidate what he felt? The horns seemed to have rung a bell somewhere in his mind, yet Harry was sure he had ever talked to the funny little wizard.

"It's called _déjà vu," Hermione explained. "It's a feeling that you've never really been somewhere or met someone, but you feel like you have. Is that right, Harry?"_

"Yeah -"

"This wouldn't be one of your dreams, would they, Harry?" Ron asked uneasily. "I mean, You-Know-Who wouldn't be behind this, would he?" He looked worried. 

"No … I haven't had too many dreams," Harry lied. The truth was, quite a few nasty dreams had haunted him over the holidays, but he had never been quite able to remember them very clearly, always waking up drenched in sweat and with a dreading feeling in the pit of his stomach. His most recent dream, with the killing of the woman, had been his clearest and most disturbing one to date. 

"Hmm …" Hermione was deep in thought. "Do you remember how last year, at the Quidditch Cup final, Ron's dad was showing us around the campsite and pointing out Ministry officials to us?"

"Of course," Ron agreed. "So you _have seen him before, dad pointed out Wimple for us, remember?"_

Harry nodded. He remembered all too well the strange events that had unfolded at the site of the Quidditch Cup, barely a year ago. Yet it now seemed like decades before … so many inexplicable and unpredicted things had happened since then …  

They had arrived back at the office, to see Mr Weasley writing down records furiously. He shook his head despondently while Ginny filled him in on their tour around the office, and winced when told of the charms Gilbert Wimple had came up with recently. 

"I've always liked Gilbert Wimple, he never meant any harm. But sometimes he's – er – far-fetched sense of humour does get the better of him."

Ron snorted. "Humour? He's a complete nutcase. Who made him Head?"

Mr Weasley shrugged. "He was only an ordinary employee just about half a year ago … Dedalus Diggle was Head back then … then – wham – next thing I knew Wimple was the most influential wizard in the Committee."

"What happened to Dedalus Diggle?"

At this Mr Weasley face darkened. "He disappeared," he answered, looking around him swiftly as though to make sure there were no eavesdroppers around. 

"Disappeared? What, just like that?" Hermione looked intrigued. She had an official-looking quill tucked over one ear, and was sorting out bits and scraps of parchment.  

"Yeah … last summer. One day he was fine, the next – it was as though he had fallen off the face of the earth. The Ministry found no trace of him whatsoever."

"But how can someone just disappear like that?" Hermione asked. "Surely they would have found his body or something?"

"No, nothing. Usually when wizards disappear they usually turn up again after a while. Yet it has been almost a year since Dedalus Diggle's departure."   

"Wow …" Ron said. Then his eyes widened and he asked, "Dad, do you think Wimple could have killed Diggle so that _he could be Head?"_

Mr Weasley looked horrified. "Ron!" he admonished. "Of all the thoughtless things to say! Now, I understand your impression of Mr Wimple is less than flattering, but there's no reason to hurl wild and unfounded accusations at the poor man!"

"But Daddy, you've got to admit he's got a point," Ginny said. "I mean, Wimple was just a lowly office worker, and then all of a sudden the Head of the Committee just vanishes into thin air, and our humble little employee _miraculously gets promoted, from the bottom of the barrel – right to the top!"_

The others nodded in agreement. 

"Now kids," Mr Weasley said huffily. "No matter how horrendous Gilbert Wimple is in your eyes, you are _not to go around jumping to conclusions like that. Don't ever mention your suspicions to anyone; you might get landed in Azkaban for tarnishing the Head of the Committee on Experimental Charms' reputation!"_

The prospect of getting thrown into Azkaban with the soul-sucking Dementors was not a bright notion, and Harry, Hermione and Ginny worked diligently with Mr Weasley for the rest of the morning. They filed, brought Mr Weasley what he required, and in Hermione's case, even wrote some of the reports. Most of the things they were handling consisted of information on the experimental charms, and about all of them, in Harry's opinion, were rubbish and a complete waste of anyone's time. 

By noon, the work looked just about finished. Hermione ran one last check on the cabinets to make sure everything was in place, then stepped back and extracted the quill from behind her ear. "We're all finished. That was fun," she said, earning sceptical looks from Harry and Ron. 

"Well, at least I got to practice my typing …" she suggested lamely.

"If it wasn't that you dragged me along, 'Mione," Ron complained, "I wouldn't be here voluntarily. We didn't get to see _any wizards in action, just sorted out bits of parchment, and got dragged around by some round-the-bend horny guy." His dad coughed forebodingly. "In the literal sense," Ron added hastily.    _

"Well, I for one consider this a most productive morning." Mr Weasley said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I couldn't have done it without you competent lot." He beamed especially at Hermione. "I'll say this has been quite worth the two Galleons I've earned this morning."

Hermione looked outraged. "_TWO Galleons?" she thundered. "Merely five Galleons for a whole morning's worth of work on a __Saturday? Oh, the nerve of the Ministry!" She thumped her fist on the desk aggressively. "How __dare they! Why, I've a good mind to stomp right up to that Wimple and give him a piece of my mind!"_

Harry had only seen Hermione look this harassed once – back in his fourth year when she had been standing up for elfin rights.

"Now, now, Hermione," Mr Weasley said soothingly. "Two Galleons is enough." 

"NO, _it's not!" Hermione roared, not bothering to brush aside the strands of bushy hair falling over her face.  "You've got to stand up to them, Mr Weasley!" She turned around and marched straight for the door, practically spitting out the words, "Oh, that __bastard, I'm going right over to his office to settle this score –" and saying that, she reached out her hand for the handle._

She never made it there. 


	4. Relationships and Tribulations

A/N: Apart from the first part or so, this is a brand new chapter. Yay! Just a quick reminder to people who have already read the previous chapters; I've said it in Chapter One, and I'm saying it again: Each of these chapters have gone through a change, Chapter Two and Three especially. So I would really appreciate it if you find time to read them again. Sorry. ~_0. 

WARNING: A bit of suffering and angst in the next few paragraphs, and gradually a few swear words will be added … so the rating of this fic has been upgraded to PG-13. Maybe even to R if more stuff happens …

**Chapter Four** **Relationships and Tribulations**

_"Sometimes I feel the world is coming to an end …"_

_"And then you feel it's just beginning …"_

-Liesil von Trap and Maria in _The Sound of Music_

Before anyone in the room could register what was happening, a blast exploded into their eardrums, and Hermione was thrown violently back to hit the wall with the force of a battering ram. 

The door had been crashed open as though blown off by explosives, blasted right off its hinges to come smashing down on the ground. Behind it, wand stretched out, and steely expression on face, standing tall in all of his four feet height, was Wimple. 

He glanced across the room instantly without a word, taking in Hermione grimacing in pain, Mr Weasley's frozen expression, Ginny crying out in terror and rushing over to the injured Hermione, and Ron, standing erect, a glint of fear in his glassy eyes. Than his glance came to rest on Harry. 

"I've waited too long, Potter, _too long." The words, dripping with hatred, were squeezed out of his throat, scratchy as sandpaper._

Afterwards, Harry could remember standing motionlessly, staring at Wimple, not being able to take it in so fast. He could remember Hermione's scream, Ron and Ginny shouting frantically, and Mr Weasley calling out in warning. All those memories seemed faded, blurry, as though he was hearing and seeing it all from behind a screen. He could remember Wimple rushing up to him in slow motion (yet he knew it had taken barely a second), and then the wild and jumbled thoughts were all blended into one furious twister as he hit the ground with a sickening _thud, Wimple on top of him, his arms around his neck. _

It was no wonder Harry was confused. Wimple's body weight pinned him to the ground while he felt his life slowly ebb away with each of his fatal squeeze. His scar was exploding in hot white pain, so much so that he couldn't see, couldn't hear, all he could feel was this blinding surge of pain, bursting out in kaleidoscopic patches in front of his eyes, feel himself struggle hopelessly against Wimple's tight grasp, toppling on the verge of unconsciousness. He choked and thrust out his arms, but to no avail. He couldn't feel, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe. _So this is what it's like to be dying, his brain mused. __This is what it's like to have the life squeezed out of you, while there's nothing you can do about it. My parents must have felt like this. _

He had felt pain like this before, when Voldemort had used the Cruciatus curse on him. He had wanted to die, to let it all end, but this: the Cruciatus curse was like a walk in the park compared to this, even worse than having a cold sharp knife insert itself into him. 

And then suddenly it all stopped. Harry felt Wimple release his grip on his neck, and his pain faded, he could breathe again, see again. Harry opened his eyes, his vision slowly restoring, drained of any energy he had left. He slumped limply on the ground, patches of red and blue exploding behind his eyelids. No pain accompanied them this time, just a great, numb exhaustion that overwhelmed him to the extent that he just wanted to lie down and die, to hell with life and existence. 

However, the frenzied hollers coming from some one else in that room other than him forced him to crawl up with effort to rest on his arms (he found it painful to even sit up, not to mention stand).

Wimple was thrusting around madly on the ground, not at anyone in particularly, as though fighting with some sort of invisible phantom. Harry had never quite seen such a disturbing sight, of someone so much in pain, knowing that their screams would stay firmly and permanently in his nightmares. Wimple looked on the verge of breaking down. He was twitching, shaking uncontrollably, struggling around on the ground like a dying insect. Mr Weasley was trying desperately to pin him to the ground, and Ginny had gone to get help.

Harry heard a gasp and saw that Hermione had crept over to his side, shaking with emotion. "It's okay, it's okay," he reassured her, reaching out to hug and comfort his friend, sounding tougher than he felt. 

"Y-you almost d-died …" Hermione whispered, and Harry saw with a pang in his heart that she too was injured; she had cuts and bruises where parts of the door had hit her.  

Hermione looked up and saw Wimple twisting around on the ground, tearing at his hair. "Don't look," Harry warned.

It indeed was a sight too grotesque to behold. Wimple was frothing in the mouth like an animal with rabies, his eyes were rolling back behind his eyelids, and his back was arching and squirming in anguish.  

"Get back!" Mr Weasley roared at Ron, his wand over Wimple. "Harry, you alive?"

"Yeah," Harry replied weakly. "Though only just." 

"GILBERT!" Mr Weasley roared. "_GET A GRIP ON YOURSELF!"_

"I can't … I CAN'T!" Wimple moaned, blood streaming from his forehead where he had smashed it against the door in an attempt to black himself out. "_Please … somebody help … me …"_

"Help will be on its way, Gilbert," Mr Weasley assured. Harry had never seen him look so shaken. He tried using a Body-bind hex on Wimple, only to have it rebound back and narrowly missed Ron.

"D-don't bother," Wimple managed to articulate. "I've – I've disobeyed the Dark Lord, and now I-I have to pay …"

Harry could hear Ron and Hermione gasp in surprise. 

"WHAT?" Mr Weasley roared. "_YOU-KNOW-WHO? Tell me, Gilbert, please tell me what's going on …"_

But the man shook his head. "No … it's-it's too l-late," he wheezed. Than his whole body seemed to jerk up, and for a moment, Wimple's attack seemed to have stopped. He looked over to Harry, and a brief flash of remorse crossed his face.

"Potter …" he said, as though each word was causing him great pain. "Potter, _I'm sorry." Then his pupils rolled back into his head and he flopped down on the ground flaccidly._

Just then, before anyone could react, Ginny rushed into the room, two ministry officials at her heels. "Where's Wimple?" One of them barked, wand at the ready.

Mr Weasley was kneeling next to Gilbert Wimple's still body. He took the man's pulse and stood up, his face ashen. "Too late," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "Gilbert's dead_." _

It was a subdued group that made their way back to Ottery St Catchpole. The Ministry, bewildered and shocked at what had happened, had provided them with lunch (in which no one ate much), before sending a car to transport the five weary wizards back home. Mr Weasley drove without a word, still stunned at the horrifying events of that morning, while Ginny and Ron had an uneasy conversation about the weather. Harry and Hermione just sat in silence, clutching extra-large blocks of chocolate. They had both been fixed up pretty well by the Ministry's nurses.

Mrs Weasley almost fainted in distress when she heard of what had happened. She sent all of them straight to bed, saying they could lie down for as long as they pleased. Harry and Ron both trooped to their room heavily; Ron falling asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. Harry, on the other head, felt like he could never close his eyes and put his trust on the world again. He looked at the Mirror of Doom on his bedside table, thinking it might help him sort out his confused feelings; but instead all he saw was a pale, exhausted boy with large unblinking eyes and big bags beneath them. The image haunted him; he looked like he had just been through World War Three. And in a way, he had.

Harry flopped down onto his bed, feeling like his whole body was made of lead. All he wanted to do now was rest … and forget … forget everything that had happened to him and to those he cared for. 

He laid there for hours, trying to sleep, yet every time he closed his eyes he could feel icy cold hands tearing at his neck, hear a crackling laugh mock his every move, and see red bloodshot eyes glaring at him. He tried to calm himself down by listening to the rhythmic sound of Ron's light breathing, but after a while even that seemed to sound like growling.  

Finally, out of desperation, Harry hurled himself out of bed. If he were to spend another minute lying there contemplating the roof patterns, he felt that he would lose his sanity. He trudged gloomily down the stairs like a zombie, not exactly knowing where to go and more importantly, what to do. 

He welcomed the fact that Ginny was there on the third landing when he arrived. Her large brown eyes bore into his, and without a word, she put her arms around him and hugged him like her life depended on it. Harry was quite taken aback, but he hugged her too, and to his surprise, felt that much better inside. 

"Do you want to go for a walk?" Ginny asked.  "Mum … mum said for us to rest, but - only I think it would be better to get some fresh air." 

Harry nodded without a word. It was better than being cooped up in his room anyway, and besides, he needed the company. 

They strolled along the park just across the house, enjoying the fresh crisp air of the evening. It was a relaxing place, with a duck pond and benches to sit on. Ginny sat on the edge of the pond and let her long, slim legs run through the water.  Harry sat down next to her, and relished the air of tranquillity around them. Here, amongst the crooning bird and the creaking insects, words were not necessary. There was a sort of mutual understanding between them now; it had been there ever since the incident at the Ministry of Magic. Ginny understood, she had been through what he had … 

And yet, Harry reminded himself, she had been hurt and frightened _because _of him_. _All the horrors that his friends had went through would not have been necessary if he wasn't there. It pained him to see Ron pale and speechless for once, Hermione bandaged up like a mummy, and to see Ginny look so haunted. She hadn't appeared so lost ever since her experience in the Chamber of Secrets; and in a way, that had been Harry's fault too. 

"You mustn't blame yourself, you know …" Ginny began, as though she could read his mind. "Wimple was a Death Eater, he deserved to die."

Harry shook his head despondently. He wanted to explain to someone – anyone - the feeling he had inside, that feeling of being responsible for everything bad that had happened. And yet … he was afraid.

"Harry …" Ginny began again. She looked uncomfortable. "Harry, if there's anything wrong, you can tell me, it's no good cooping it up inside." She turned her head to look him square in the eye, and for the first time, Harry realised just how much Ginny had changed ever since the last time he had saw her. 

That petite, innocent, ten-year-old little girl at the train station, who had so longed to see him – compared to this fourteen-year-old teenager, with long flowing hair the colour of wine, and graceful limbs … Ginny was going to be gorgeous, there was no doubt about that. She was like a porcelain doll, beautifully crafted, and yet so very fragile …

Hermione was beautiful too, though not in the same way as Ginny. Hermione had this brilliant sense of confidence and intelligence inside her that made her unique. He remembered the way she had blushed when she had pecked him on the cheek at the train station when his fourth school year had ended. That aura of power around her, that delightful kindness and loyalty … she was every bit as beautiful as Ginny.

He stared at his likeness in the pond, and was started when a drop of water disturbed its shimmering surface and broke the picturesque reflection into a million pieces. The drop of water had come from Ginny's face; she was tearing. 

"Oh, Harry," Ginny whispered softly, and brought a long slender hand up to stroke his cheek lovingly. Harry immediately felt his face heat up, and his whole body turn numb with surprise. What was Ginny doing? Why was she looking at him like that?

She leaned forward; face lifted towards his, and brought her lips closer … her large pleading eyes looked so desperate, so hungry for love -

Their nose touched, and –

He couldn't do it. Harry pushed her away gently, yet firmly. He couldn't kiss her. Sure, he liked her as a friend, but not any more than that … how could he have given her that impression?

Harry jumped up from the ledge, heart pounding madly, and turned abruptly to go. He caught the hurt look in Ginny's eyes, but what could he have said? _I'm sorry, Ginny, but I don't like you … please don't try and kiss me? _

Harry ran blindly, not daring to turn around and see Ginny's reaction. She didn't try to follow or stop him. He ran the rest of the way back to the Burrow, to his room, still trying to catch his breath. Ron was awake, sitting on the edge of his bed, with tousled hair and puffy eyes. He stifled a yawn as he pulled on a sock and said, "Oh Harry, where were you? You're sweating all over. What happened?"

What could he have said? _Oh, nothing, just the usual, you know. Your sister and I went away on our own little private rendezvous, she tried to kiss me, and I rejected her and ran back here. Regular stuff._

"Nothing." Harry lied. "I went for a little jog. Ran out of breath."

He wondered where Ginny was. He shouldn't have been so rude. He still wanted to be friends, after all. What if Ginny got so hurt she jumped into the pond? Then it would be his fault, as it always was …

He flopped back down onto bed, pulled the covers over his head, and got down to feeling really, really guilty. 

***

That night, lying in bed, Harry stared up at the ceiling blankly, thinking over the day's events. He thought of poor Ginny, and how she must have felt that evening. He had experienced rejection too, last year when Cho had went to the Yule ball with Cedric Diggory.   

_No, _he thought sharply. _Don't think of Cedric. Don't think of his unblinking eyes and his sobbing parents and that bright flash of green light …_

In the end he decided to go downstairs for a cup of coffee. Caffeine was a good way to soothe, if not, numb the nerves. If that didn't work, then he would have to get some sleeping draught. On his way down the second landing, however, he heard raised voices down the staircase. Harry paused cautiously, and listened. It seemed that Mr and Mrs Weasley were having a fight. He hated to eavesdrop, but in the end his curiosity got the better of him, and he stayed in the shadows, bracing himself. The last time he had heard something from the couple, he had learnt that his godfather was out to murder him.  

"But _Molly,_" Mr Weasley was saying, sounding very exasperated, "how was I to know that an angry Death Eater was plotting to assassinate Harry?"

"_I_ _don't care_," his wife replied hotly. "You should have been able to protect him somehow. Instead_, _you choose to hang back and watch while that – that _Death Eater _almost squeezed the life out of the poor boy. _You are a full-qualified, grown-up wizard, Arthur!"_

"I couldn't do anything, Molly, anything at all! I had to help Hermione too …"

"_Don't even get me started on Hermione! _That poor girl, volunteering to help you out at the Office, but ending up, instead, with five stitches! I thought you _promised_ you would be careful!"

There was a pregnant pause, then came the soft, unmistakable sound of sobbing.  

"And I thought we would be safe …but now it's happening all over again. Harry could have been _injured; _he could have been taken to _You-Know-Who, _or worse – _killed …" _Mrs Weasley blew her nose loudly.

"Molly, dear, please don't cry … Harry's alright, and we're all going to be just fine -"

"It's just that whenever something like this happens, I can't stop thinking of Danny … can't help thinking how if we had been more careful, she would still have been here -"

"What happened to Danny wasn't our fault …"

Harry made his way downstairs for his coffee, not staying to hear more. He had had enough depressing thoughts for the day; and now he knew that some girl called Danny, whom the Weasleys knew well, had been a victim of Voldemort's as well. It looked like it would have to be the sleeping draught after all. 

***

The rest of the holidays past in an uneventful blur. Harry spent his days practicing Quidditch with the twins and Ron, and occasionally Hermione joined in as well, thought soon it became evident that she was never quite destined to be on a racing broom. On two particular nasty incidents Mr Weasley and Harry had to rescue her from tall, branchy trees. Ginny always sat at the edge of the moor and watched them with an amused expression on her face; she never spoke a word to Harry, and he still found it hard to look her in the eye.

They went to Diagon Alley to get all their schoolbooks a week before school, and spent hours in Flourish and Blotts, waiting for Hermione to finish selecting her extra books for the year, all twenty-seven of them. Ron made a reluctant visit to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, to get a new pair of dress robes (the Hogwarts list had said that they would be needing them again this year). Already his old laced maroon one was only coming up to his knees. In the end they managed to find a nice, sensible, lace-free one in a humble blue colour. 

Before anyone knew it, the holidays were over in a jiffy. Harry woke up to that day with mixed feelings; he hated leaving the Burrow, yet the thought of being at Hogwarts again was enough to make him jump for joy.

In no time at all they were saying their goodbyes to Mr and Mrs Weasley at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. The scarlet Hogwarts Express was brimming with students, anxious parents, and their various luggage and pets. Ginny bounded off to find her friends, leaving Hermione, Ron and Harry to find a vacant carriage. Hermione turned to face them, red in the face. 

"I've got to go now, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves." At her words Ron frowned and visibly started fuming. Hermione shot them both an apologetic look. "I'll be back soon, I'd just go see who else is there. Save me a seat, okay?" Then she was gone.

Ron kicked his suitcase into a carriage; not caring if anything was broken. "Prefect this, prefect that," he exclaimed angrily. "She doesn't even bloody care about us any more."

"Don't be silly, of course she does," Harry tried desperately to explain. "It's her duty, as a prefect, to do what she does." Ron scoffed at this comment as he sat down.  

The Hogwarts Express started to move away from the platform. Harry and Ron waved to Mr and Mrs Weasley from the window; both of them looked quite worried. Harry remembered the fight they had had the other day. 

"Do you know anyone called Danny?" he asked Ron. 

"Who?" Ron didn't seem to have a clue. 

"Never mind," Harry said. Danny was probably some distant relative or old friend. 

Ginny came in a little while afterwards, deciding to join them after all, followed by Hermione, who had already changed into her school robes, her prefect badge glinting brightly. 

"You'll never guess who the other fifth-year Gryffindor prefect is!" she gushed.

"Who?" Harry, Ron and Ginny asked in unison.

"Neville!" Hermione beamed. "He's so happy, can hardly believe it. The other boys are not so pleased, though."  Harry smiled, remembering poor Frank Longbottom and his wife at St Mungo's. They would have been proud of their son.  

"Padma Patil and Terry Boot are the Ravenclaw fifth-year prefects, while the Hufflepuff prefects are Hannah Abbot and Justin Finch-Fletchley." Hermione continued, then screwed up her face in disgust. "Slytherin prefects were Blaise Zabini, and _Malfoy_."

"WHAT?" Harry, Ron and Ginny yelled simultaneously again. "_You're kidding."_

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not," she confirmed, "though I wish I were. You should have seen that arrogant look on his face – I bet that now he's a prefect he's going to go around taking away house points from Gryffindors for _breathing_."

"Great, just what I need – Malfoy to shove his silly badge in my face," Ron fumed. "How the hell did he get chosen?"

"Snape, remember?" Ginny said grimly. "He totally adores Malfoy, the stupid git."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "One of these days, that Malfoy is going to come to a sticky end, that stuck-up twit -"

"You would do better than to call me that, you filthy little Mudblood," a high, drawling voice sneered from the carriage door. Four heads whipped around to stare angrily at him. Draco Malfoy was standing erect at the door as though he owned the train. His lieutenants, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle cracked their knuckles menacingly behind him. 

Harry felt a flash of anger hit him. He stood up, wand outstretched, and barked, "Don't you _dare _call her that, Malfoy!" 

"_Touché," _remarked Malfoy, undaunted. "Defending your girlfriend, eh, Potter? I read about that little incident at the Ministry of Magic. What a pity that Death Eater didn't finish you and Mudblood off, it would have saved us so much time and bother … I expect Krum would have been most upset though, despite his girlfriend being such a _slut_ …"

Ron made to rush at Malfoy and do something drastic, but Ginny pulled him back with a look of warning. Hermione stood very still, looking eerily calm, but a tinge of red was slowly creeping up her neck, and she was fingering her wand.

"Say that again, Malfoy," she said quietly. 

"Why, with pleasure. Granger the slut, Granger the slut, Granger the -"

Draco Malfoy never got to finish his sentence. A loud _BANG _was heard; there was a cloud of purple smoke that momentarily blinded everyone, and a scream echoed throughout the carriage. The mist cleared to find Draco Malfoy on the ground, lifeless and with empty eyes staring upwards. Crabbe and Goyle looked at their friend with horror, then turned and fled. Malfoy remained still.

"OMIGOD, I'VE KILLED HIM!" Hermione yelled frantically, staring at her wand as though she thought it had sprouted spaghetti. 

Ron and Harry stood, too stunned to do anything, while Hermione ran over to Malfoy, perhaps to perform cardiopulmonary resuscitation on her arch nemesis. 

"_I've killed Malfoy, oh, I've killed Malfoy_," she exclaimed in terror, cawing at her face in distress. Ginny, who had taken a course on wizarding first aid, made her way to Malfoy calmly and examined his pulse. 

"He's not dead," she announced to everyone, and Hermione slumped onto the ground weakly, muttering "Thank goodness."

"He's not dead?" Ron asked with mixed feelings, finally recovering his voice. "But his – his eyes are wide open and he's not moving and everything -"

Harry cringed inwardly, trying not to stare into Malfoy's unblinking eyes. _Do not think of Cedric; do not think of Cedric, _he repeated mentally to himself. 

Ginny shook her head at Ron. "No, he's only been knocked out. But I've no idea why his eyes are open. Hermione, what exactly did you cast on him?"

Hermione looked at her wand in puzzlement. "I was so angry … wait a second – I didn't cast anything at all!"

Ginny looked at her brother questioningly. "It wasn't me, I swear it wasn't," Ron answered.

"Not me either," Harry said, though he had a twinge of doubt in his mind. _Did he do something involuntarily with his Nonwander powers? _

"Then who did it?" Hermione asked perplexedly. 

"I did," a voice rang out from behind them. A tall, long-faced woman made her way forward, clad in teal-coloured robes. She shot a jagged look at Hermione, making the latter cringe and look away in unease. 

"Hermione Granger, is it not?" The woman asked briskly, with an air of authority. She had sharp, intense eyes of a grey colour. Her dark hair contrasted deeply with her pale skin, reminding Harry of a Banshee, though he had never really seen one in the flesh.  

"Ye-yes," Hermione said hesitantly, as though worried about revealing her identity. "I, er-"

The woman shook her head. "I heard everything, Miss Granger. _That,_" and here she pointed an almost shaking finger at Malfoy, "That _son of a bitch deserved to be Petrified. Unfortunately I have neither guts nor the supremacy to cast an Unforgivable curse on him."   _

Harry and Ron gaped at the woman, stunned at her choice of words, and at the passion with which she delivered them. Harry remembered dimly, with a fresh pang in his heart, Professor Dumbledore checking the Petrified body of Miss Norris, the caretaker's cat in his second year. He had remarked that Petrification would have required 'dark magic of the most advanced'. 

"For goodness sake, don't glare at me like that." Banshee-Woman said casually. "I'm Professor Pennymore, your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." 

_Oh, _Harry sighed with relief. _That explains a lot. No wonder she seems to know a lot of Dark Magic. _

Ron stepped forward cautiously. "Professor, is – is Malfoy okay?" 

Ron wondering about Malfoy's health. Now I've seen everything, Harry thought, but didn't dare say that to his best friend. 

"I assure you that he is fine, Mr Weasley," Professor Pennymore said. "And I don't need mandrake roots to revive him." She bent over Malfoy, and whispered some inaudible words into his ear. Draco straightened up immediately, eyes blinking, trying to make sense of what had just happened.  

"What the fudge?" he spat, brushing himself as he leapt up and fixed a furious glare at Pennymore. 

"You were being an absolute prick," she said evenly, "and I Petrified you before anyone else caught the urge to have you disembowelled."

"WHAT?" Malfoy yelled in anger, losing control of himself for once. 'You _what? _Who the hell do you think you are? My father will have you put in court for that, you -"

"Your father would not so much as bat an eyelid at me, _Mister _Malfoy, though I assure you he would not be pleased by this unacceptable behaviour of yours. And neither will your Head of House, once I inform him of this -"

By this time, Draco Malfoy and Professor Pennymore were raising their voices for the whole train to hear. Each were glaring at each other through narrowed eyes and flushed cheeks. 

"What is going on here?" A familiar voice, icy and filled with menace, sliced through the air, and immediate silence followed. Severus Snape appeared from the doorway, hair as greasy and face as sallow as ever. Harry groaned inwardly, waiting for Snape to make some sarcastic remarks and deduct points from Gryffindor without hesitation, but the Potions Master took no notice of him or his friends. Snape was staring at Professor Pennymore, his black beady eyes as thin as silts. The expression on his face was a mixture of understanding and wariness.   

Malfoy took up the opportunity to lap up to his favourite teacher. "_She," _and Draco pointed an accusing finger at Pennymore in his most woe-be-gone manner, "_Petrified _me and called me a prick for good measure." 

"_This _boy here called Miss Granger a _Mudblood, _and some other not so nice things as well." Pennymore said quickly. "I was simply trying to calm him down."

Harry had expected Snape to scoff and bark at Professor Pennymore, but instead the Slytherin Head of House eyed his colleague from top to toe with a most peculiar expression on his face. "So we've met again, Julia," he said simply. 

"I'm afraid so, _Professor Snape_," Pennymore replied, her voice lined with dislike. "I suggest you give Mr Malfoy a lecture here about the equality of everyone in the wizarding community, regardless of hereditary. I believe an apology to Miss Granger is also in order."

This time Snape did scoff. "Draco has been provoked," he said offhandedly. "Miss Granger should be the one to apologise."

Malfoy beamed with triumphant, while Hermione glowered angrily at the both of them. 

"That's not fair, Professor," Harry said between gritted teeth. "She didn't call anyone a _filthy Mudblood_ -"

"TEN POINTS OFF GRYFFINDOR, POTTER!" Snape yelled without hesitation. The four Gryffindors in the room shot him daggers. 

Professor Pennymore frowned. "I see no point in taking away house points before the term has even started," she reasoned. "If ten points is taken off Gryffindor then I propose Slytherin receive the equal treatment. After all, Malfoy here has misbehaved as well, moreover, he seems to be a prefect -" 

Snape's face darkened. "You haven't changed, have you, Julia? Still carrying on with those "I see's" and "I propose's", still holding onto those same old biased feelings about Slytherin …"

"You're one to speak," Pennymore replied evenly, in a tone that meant clearly that she was having no more of their conversation. "Then I would rather have no points deducted from any houses at all. Good day, _Professor_." And with that, she marched out of the room, face held high and looking composed once more. Snape glared after her, then put his hand on Malfoy's shoulder in a fatherly fashion, and without any further ado, whisked him along out of the carriage as well. 

"What was that about?" Ginny was the first to voice her feelings. "Did you see the way Snape looked at Professor Pennymore?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Talk about old feuds; distance certainly hasn't made the heart grown fonder for those two." 

Hermione was looking most wistful. "She knew everyone's name, even though she was new. And she used Dark Magic! Even _Snape's_ smart enough not to attempt that!"

"The Professor was using it on Malfoy, therefore I have no objections." Harry said with satisfaction. It had amused him greatly to see Malfoy stumped for once. 

"She was breaking serious law," Hermione said severely. "Being a Hogwarts professor doesn't give her the prerogative to use Dark spells! Doesn't she know the rules -" She was cut off rudely by Ron, who turned to her with a look of ferocity no one knew he had. 

"Rules, rules, rules!" Ron spat bitterly. "Is that all you care about? Your stupid bloody policies and conventions? What happened to the old Hermione I knew?" 

Hermione's face darkened. "Ron, what's up with you -"

"What's up with _you? _You're a total mess! I'll have you know that there are things are more important than rules and regulations, such as decency, and loyalty, and _friends_!" He yelled the last word in her face.

And Hermione slapped Ron. 

It happened in one fast, swift movement, with a sound like the crack of a whip, and Ron ran his hand over his face, dark eyes flashing in surprise, over the crimson, hand-shaped mark that burned into his left cheek.

"You're right," Hermione said quietly, "I _am_ a mess."  She turned and ran out of the carriage without another word, leaving Harry, Ginny and Ron standing in total shock. 

Ginny turned to Ron, stuck between getting angry at him, and worrying about the mark on his face. "What d'you do that for? Are you okay?" 

Harry patted his friend on the shoulder grimly, then made his way after Hermione, hoping she wasn't about to throw herself out of a train window, or do something equally drastic. 

He came to last carriage in the train, not having seen Hermione anyway, when he heard soft whispering coming from under a seat. 

"_There are things that are more important than rules and regulations, such as decency, and loyalty, and friends …"_

Hermione was huddled up underneath the seat, legs tucked up to her chin, rocking back and forth with a forlorn face. At first Harry thought she might be crying, but her face was dry. Harry realised now that in the five years that he had known Hermione, he had never seen her cry; not even when she had been hurt at the Ministry of Magic; she was too proud for that.

"Hermione?" he said delicately, squeezing down next to her, not knowing how to comfort her.

She turned to him slowly and asked thoughtfully, as though contemplating a problem in Arithmancy. "Harry, what went wrong?"

"With what, 'Mione?" 

"With me! Everything I do is wrong!" she looked at him miserably, her lips trembling, now that the emotion was finally being able to be released and let off her chest. "What went wrong with me?"

Harry felt a pang in his heart. No one deserved to feel as though something was wrong with themselves. Not even Draco Malfoy. He had never felt like that about himself in particular, but lately, what with all that was going on, he had certainly felt like everything was his fault … 

"Being smart is terrible sometimes …" Hermione said softly. "People assume that you're just a set of brains, just a walking encyclopaedia … they judge you before they even know you … and it hurts …"

"I've never done that. Neither has Ginny or Ron. We're your true friends." Harry said firmly. "Give Ron some time, I'm sure he didn't mean what he said …"

"Oh, but he did!" Hermione moaned. Harry sneaked a look at her face. Not a tear was in sight. Somehow, that worried him more than if she had been bawling her eyes out. It unnerved him that Hermione seemed to have forgotten how to cry.

"He was looking so angry, like he didn't want to be my friend any more … and I was confused, I don't know why I slapped him now. It's like someone else took over, you know what I mean?" Hermione sighed. "And he's been all rigid about me being a prefect, oh, what _is _wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you!" Harry said fiercely, enclosing both of her hands with his and putting them to his heart in earnest. "You're one of the most wonderful persons I've ever met! You're so kind, and honest, and loyal, and brilliant, and beautiful -"

Hermione looked at him shyly. "And beautiful?" she asked gently, feeling his heart beat against her hands. 

"And beautiful," he confirmed.  

For a moment they looked at each other in silence, then Hermione laughed heartily, reached over and hugged him with all her strength. 

"Thanks," she said, all the grief and misery gone from her voice. "I think you're beautiful too."  

Then they let go and leant on each other's shoulder contentedly, hands still intertwined. 

"Thanks for cheering me up, Harry," Hermione said. "You know, sometimes I feel the world is coming to an end …"

"And then you feel it's just beginning …" Harry finished for her. 

"Yes!" Hermione said eagerly. "I've never told you this, but that day we went through the trapdoor for the Philosopher's Stone, back in first year, that was one of the happiest day of my life."

"Really? Why?"

"It's hard to explain, but I just knew it was. I didn't feel happy while we were chasing Quirrell, of course, quite the contrary, but afterwards … it was like a whole new beginning, like I've just realised who I was, just came out. Do you still remembered what I said to you just before you were about to head off through the flames and we were separating?"

"Of course: _Books! And cleverness! There are more important things – friendship and bravery … _How could I forget? We've been through so much, you and Ron and I. Don't let this beautiful friendship fade away, Hermione. You two are the closest I've got."

"I'll never fade away, Harry. Never."

***

A/N: Hehe, a bit of torture for all the shippers. Harry rejects and breaks poor Ginny's heart, Hermione wounds Ron, and then Harry and Hermione hug but don't do anything romantic. I don't like romance when it just comes straight out and hits you on the head. For me, any fic with fourteen-year-olds kissing passionately and doing other stuff is always a bit unrealistic and disturbing (no offence to anyone out there though, it's just my opinion). There's always got to be complications first, and then maybe gradually something will happen …

Since it's holidays right now I should have more time to work on the next chapter. It may be out within a couple of weeks, it may not. Depends on how much homework I have to complete *winces*, and how busy I will be. I'll try my best, though. ^^  


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